History Will Hate Us (But They'll Never Forget Our Names)
by writingkilledreality
Summary: Meeting him for the first time was a chance encounter. A million to one possibility. It was completely accidental and totally life changing. For the better or worse, neither was sure at the time, but it was life altering nonetheless. OR: In which Courtney is a lawyer who comes across an injured, gang leader Duncan on her walk home AU
1. bleeding out in an empty alley

Let me start this off by saying, I researched for like two hours trying to figure out how the Canadian legal system works, but I cannot figure it out for the life of me. The internet doesn't explain things easy enough sometimes. And I only known bits and pieces of how the US legal system works. So, this takes place in an AU universe of some unknown city in some unknown place in a made-up country with some kind of made up, kind of real legal system with the terms district attorney and stuff only because I didn't want to make anything else up. So enjoy. (ps if you know how the Canadian legal system works, possibly in a comparison chart to the US and want to explain it, you'd be the bomb diggity)

* * *

Meeting him for the first time was a chance encounter. A million to one possibility. It was completely accidental and totally life changing. For the better or worse, neither was sure at the time, but it was life altering nonetheless.

It started in a twenty-four-hour diner. Well, at least that's where it started for Courtney Veras.

She sat in a corner booth, coffee mug placed in front of her along with a case file. The papers inside were bracketed neatly together and Courtney flipped through them for the millionth time that night. She had a case coming up and she needed to be sure she understood everything about it. She needed to memorize every shred of evidence, every second of the timeline, and every possible angle the defense would throw. It might have just been a simple petty theft and trespassing case, but it was her first solo case and she wanted no screw ups.

It had only been a little over six months since she graduated from law school and scored a job at the District Attorney's Office. One of her mentors throughout law school had seen promise in her and had fought tooth and nail, making vouch after vouch, to gain her a job at the DA's Office. Of course, for the past six months she had been on a sort of probation, working under her mentor, not being able to be a full ADA with her own cases and faith and trust bestowed upon her.

But that was going to change and soon. Courtney had been given her first ever case, a solo, you-are-in-charge case, with her mentor only acting as an advisor and a backup if she screwed up.

However, he was going to be completely unnecessary, because Courtney Veras was not planning to fail! She was going to succeed! She was going to prove her worth and show everyone that her mentor had placed his faith in the right person. She was going to be as great as he thought she would be, show everyone that she did have that promise he saw.

Courtney rubbed at her eyes tiredly before reaching out and grabbing her coffee mug. She brought the mug to her lips absentmindedly as she read over a page of the file once again. She let out a heavy sigh when she was not met with the warm caffeine usually promised by coffee but was instead met with nothingness. She set her mug down, reaching out for the coffee pot in front of her, only to discover that it too was empty. Courtney let out a sigh, turning in her booth to wave down her waitress.

"Hi Ida," Courtney greeted when her waitress, her usual waitress, walked up. Ida was an older woman, sweet as can be, and from all of the times Courtney had been there, she could tell that Ida was a motherly person who was anything but a pushover. She was a kind woman in a city of anything but. "Can I have another pot of coffee?"

"You have been here for hours," Ida sighed out, setting Courtney with a motherly stare, "It's one in the morning, don't you think you should be heading home?"

"Ida, I need to make sure everything is perfect and in line, I can't have anything sneaking up on me," Courtney told her, her voice twisting into a childish whine as she gestured to the file folder in front of her. Ida raised a brow at her and Courtney already knew that she was going to lose. Courtney might have been a lawyer, and she might have lived to make arguments since she was a child, but Ida was an anomaly. No matter what Courtney argued, no matter _what_ she was arguing, Ida always seemed to win and get her way. Damn woman should've been a lawyer instead of waitress.

"And you have," Ida promised, "Everything is going to go perfectly the way your OCD has guaranteed, but now you need to go home and rest before you end up twisting up the case in your sleep deprived mind." Courtney rolled her eyes as Ida sent her with a motherly glare, obviously realizing she'd have to pull out the big guns. "I'm cutting you off." Ida reached out and took both the coffee pot and mug from the table, her face twisting into that of no nonsense.

"You can't do that! This isn't a bar, you can't cut me off," Courtney exclaimed in outrage, throwing her hands up as Ida walked away. Of course, this was not the first time that Ida had cut her off, but it still irritated her nonetheless.

"I mostly certainly can and I mostly certainly did," Ida told her sternly, leaving no room for arguing, "Go home and get some sleep." Courtney pouted in her booth, crossing her arms childishly across her chest before letting out a sigh and standing up.

"Fine, I'll go drink coffee and review my case at my apartment," Courtney said as she gathered her things with a huff.

"You do that," Ida spoke up before her voice took on motherly concern, "Are you going to make it home okay?" Courtney paused at that. The city was anything but kind. Littered with gang violence and criminals, there was no good part of town. Only the bad and the worse. Walking down the streets, walking home, much like what Courtney had to do, was dangerous in the day and even more so dangerous at night.

"I'll be fine, Ida. I've made the walk a thousand times and have never had problems. Besides, if this city does anything, it makes people prepared," Courtney told her, gesturing to herself where her case file was tucked under one arm, hand clutched in a death grip on her purse, and her other hand held a can of pepper spray connected to her key ring.

"Okay, stay safe honey. See you next time," Ida said with a wave as Courtney left the diner, hearing a quietened "Get some rest!" as the door shut.

Courtney speed walked her way down the sidewalks, keeping her head low, but her attention always alert. The usual loons and homeless people were out on the streets, but they seemed to mostly ignore her with nothing more than a side glance as she hurried her way home, cutting through sketchy, dimly lit alleys to save her time and get her home quicker. She always walked faster in alleys, never trusting them enough to stroll down them. Alleys were sketchy and dangerous a lot of the time, but with the blocky layout of the city, it was the only route that would get her home quicker and avoid some of the rougher main streets.

It was at the last alley she had to take, the one that would lead her directly to her apartment building, that her whole life changed. For the better or worse, she wasn't sure, it truly depended on the day.

She turned the corner into the beginning of the alley, all of her senses on high alert. Her martial arts training irking forward just in case. Growing up she had taken martial arts and kick boxing classes, finding comfort in not only being able to take care of herself, but also in the ability to relieve every ounce of anger or stress by kicking the shit out of someone. It wasn't until she moved to the city during her law school years that she also began taking self-defense classes. Martial arts and kick boxing had rules, ones she throughly enjoyed following, but in the rough streets of the city there was no rules, no fighting fair. Her martial arts and kick boxing classes gave her strength and taught her how to beat the snot out of people, but her self-defense classes taught her how to fight dirty, how to survive if she was ever attacked in the city. This alley alone made her thankful for taking so many fighting courses. In the numerous times she traveled down the alley route, she'd had a few high alert experiences. It wasn't odd to find homeless people in the alley or the occasional strung out junkie. Both of which were unafraid to walk up to a lone woman and rob her.

She paused when she saw it, well _him,_ only she didn't know it was him at the moment.

In the midpoint of the alley, leaning against the neighboring building's wall, was a figure who seemed to be slumped over, presumably passed out and hurt. One of the person's hands was draped limply across their lap, something Courtney couldn't make out, probably a gun, in their hand, other hand clutching ribs as if in pain.

Courtney knew better than to just going strolling passed or go so eagerly to check for injury. The person could be a slumped over drunk or a higher than life drug addict for all she knew, both of which were dangerous. She realized quickly that it could also be nothing more than a setup, than an extravagant ruse. She would rush over to the seemingly injured or incapacitated person with nothing but good intentions and she would be swiftly robbed for everything on her person or worse. She could turn her way out of the alley and take the long route home, but Courtney knew that the person could have others waiting to attack and block off the alley and any means of escape. She had seen in the news that a similar instance had happened a few blocks down a month or two ago. The damn city was nothing but toxic and crafty. A small part of her also considered the possibility that there was actually an injured person in the alley, someone who needed help. It had certainly happened before.

So, she proceeded with caution, pepper spray held up just in case. She took a few steps closer before stopping making sure the person did not move. _Promising_ , she thought to herself when there wasn't any abrupt movement or a knife to her side.

It wasn't until she was ten feet away from the figure that she was able to see that the man, yes definitely man, was actually unconscious. Courtney took note of the red that bled darkly through the man's jeans, mostly in his left thigh, more than likely where his wound was.

Courtney bent down cautiously, reaching to the man's neck to check for a pulse. It was weak and thready, but it was definitely there. She glanced down to the man's thigh, quickly gathering that his injury was a gunshot wound, probably from some rival gang member if she had to guess. Definitely not life threatening but given the man's bruises and cuts that were visible and the amount of blood the man seemed to have lost, she doubted he would be okay if he was left there without help any longer.

 _Perfect! I'll just call emergency services about a shooting victim and then be on my merry way with good karma and a clear conscious_ , Courtney thought to herself, reaching to get her phone from her back pocket. She stopped abruptly when she noticed for the first time what it was the man held limply in his hand. A mask.

Courtney recognized that mask, anyone in the city would recognize that mask. A dark grey, almost black, full faced skull mask, accented only in a war paint style of neon green. That mask belonged to the leader of the city's most notorious gang, the Killer Bass Crew. No one knew the crew leader's true identity, only the alias he went under, the Delinquent. The Delinquent was someone to be feared. The entire Killer Bass Crew was something to be feared. They practically ran the city with the number of heists, hits, and chaos they caused.

Courtney knew she needed to call the police. She was in the presence of a dangerous, known criminal! They'd come and arrest him without second thought, saving the city from its greatest monster. One call and she would be the one to get the notorious Delinquent arrested and into police custody, a thing no one in city's law enforcement ever saw coming. Everyone in the city thought the Killer Bass leader would be killed in action before being taken away by the police to live the rest of his life in prison. Now that would be a boost to her career, to be the one to call in the city's most wanted criminal.

However, as these thoughts came to her and as the hand holding her phone hovered awkwardly by her shoulder, she found herself looking at the dangerous man. The media had labeled the Delinquent as a heartless, psychotic monster, and he was. He was definitely _not_ a good guy, but without the fear invoked by his mask and him leaning unconscious against a wall, Courtney almost felt sorry for him. His features were twisted into an expression of pain, but even with the obvious pain she could make out the softness of them, almost like a gentle kindness. She wasn't sure how someone so intimidating, so powerful, so dangerous, someone who sported a neon green mohawk, could look so small. A bruise, probably a week old she assumed by the coloring, shadowed his cheekbone and the simple mark alone made him look so broken. Here the, arguably, most powerful man in the city was looking fragile and broken.

The way Courtney saw it, she had three options.

She could call the police and get the Delinquent off of the streets for good, probably making the city at least twenty percent safer with the Killer Bass king locked away. Then again, with that option she would more than likely be in danger, well more danger than normal. The Killer Bass Crew weren't going to let their leader be locked away without a fight. They would wreak havoc on the city and devise the most brutal jail break possible, more than likely taking down a lot of people with them. She knew that she would more than likely be one of those causalities. They wouldn't let the person who turned their leader in live, especially not when she was an ADA.

Her second option was to simply just leave him. She could leave the alley and pretend she had never seen the Delinquent, never crossed his broken, bloodied path. She could make it all the way to her apartment and forget that she had ever seen his face. His gentle, angel face. Courtney, as knowledgeable as she was, easily comprehended the fact that if she left him alone in the alley that he would more than likely bleed to death, leaving his sorry, horrible life solely in her hands. Once again, she was at an option that would make the city safer, and more than likely cripple the city's most active gang. However, she realized this option could end just like the first. If the Killer Bass Crew ever found out that she had come across their leader and left him to die, they would murder her or maybe even leave her to bleed out in an alley the way he did.

Her third, gut wrenching, option was to help him. To not call the police or emergency services and instead drag him up to her apartment and save his life, his horrible, awful existence of a life. Courtney fought with that option. Her conscious was completely against it. If she saved his life, sent him on his merry way, she would be responsible for any—no, all—of the havoc he rained down on the city and its people after that. She would be the one who saved his life _and_ didn't turn him in to the authorities. More importantly, if anyone ever found out that she had helped the criminal and hadn't turned him in, it would ruin her career, not to mention it could leave her facing criminal charges of her own. Aiding and abetting a criminal, a _most wanted_ criminal, possible accessory after the fact if the prosecution could stretch it enough, failure to report a crime and criminal, those were the almost guaranteed ones. A million other possibilities flashed through her mind at the thought of the District Attorney's Office stretching the charges to their limits.

There Courtney Veras was. Stuck between getting murdered or losing her entire career and facing criminal charges. The perfectionist had always been a rule follower. She never caused trouble in school, never went through a rebellious phase, never snuck out of the house. She followed every rule that was ever made. Even being in the city, where sometimes a person had to stretch the law to survive the chaos, she never broke a single rule. Yet, here she was with a battered, shot criminal laying at her feet, torn between following the rules and calling the police, resulting in her inevitable murder, or saving his life and breaking many of laws that she swore never to disobey. _What the hell is wrong with you Veras?_ Courtney scolded, _Are you seriously pro and conning being murdered or breaking a law, losing your career? You can find a new job, you can get out of jail, you can't get a new life!_

Courtney took one last look at the Delinquent, took in those gentle features of his, the face of a killer, of a gang leader, who in that moment looked like the smallest, most broken thing, and her decision was made.

* * *

The brunette let out a strained breath as she heaved the insensible man onto her living room couch. She had managed to drag the criminal all the way up to her apartment without being noticeably detected by anyone. The city was a great place to turn a blind eye to a crime or sketchy behavior. She just hoped any blood trail he left behind was outside rather than in her apartment building, leading straight to her door like a treasure map. It was common to see blood stains or trails on the concrete outside, so there was no suspicion there. _You're made up of a lot more muscles than you look, Mr. Delinquent_ , Courtney thought to herself as she tried to catch her breath. She was in relatively good shape, but even she wasn't prepared to carry a grown man.

Courtney regained most of her breath before breaking into action, searching for the med kit she kept. She ripped through her cabinets, searched shelves, and dug through her closets looking for it. She knew she had one. Her mother gave her a new one every Christmas, a strange present, but what more could she expect from her doctor mother. Courtney let out a cry of triumph when she pulled the kit out from the back of her closet. She rushed back to her criminal patient, setting a reminder in the back of her head that she should probably put her med kit in a better place.

She stopped in front of the couch, setting the kit down on the coffee table as she leaned down to examine the green haired man. _Real original_ , Courtney thought to herself with an eyeroll. Seriously, could the man scream bothersome delinquent any more than a neon green mohawk and a face full of piercings?

She reached out to take his pulse again, taking it as a good sign that she could feel his body move slightly as he breathed, it meant he was alive for the time being. His pulse was still there, and from what she could tell, his only serious injury was coming from the bullet wound at his thigh, and even that was beginning to bleed less and less. She pulled out a pair of medical scissors and began cutting at his pant leg to reveal his bloody leg.

Courtney turned away slightly, pretending like she was looking for supplies as if someone could see that she was uncomfortable. Even though she had lived in the dangerous city, where shootings were constant, for a few years now, she had never seen a bullet wound so close up. Seeing a bullet wound for the first time was enough to make anyone queasy, but Courtney was never one to accept weakness. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, setting herself straight. _You do not get queasy at the sight of blood. This kind of medical stuff has never bothered you before. You signed up to help this miscreant, so suck it up and get it together_ , Courtney yelled at herself, her version of a pep talk. She reopened her eyes, her nerves set to steel and her aura projecting nothing but determination. She was _not_ going to let a gang leader die on her couch.

Courtney looked into her kit, taking note of everything she would need. She put on a pair of medical gloves, not even wanting to think about the diseases a mercenary like the Delinquent could have. She examined his leg, deeming the wound to be a through and through when she saw both an entrance and exit wound. Courtney reached out for a pack of gauze sponges, pressing it to the wound to hopefully stop the remaining bleeding.

Courtney took the moment to examine him for any other injuries. She lifted his shirt, finding herself trying to look anywhere but the Delinquent's abs. Why do the criminals and gang members always have to have such great body's? Besides bruises, none of which looked serious enough to cause internal trauma, and few cuts that probably needed nothing more than a few butterfly bandages, he seemed okay enough. Her fingers trailed lightly over his ribs, where a bruise was blooming. He must have been kicked in the ribs when he had gotten shot. There was nothing like a good ole curb stomp after being shot.

"What have you lived through?" she questioned him quietly as her fingers trailed over tattoos and old scars, bullet wounds that have healed, long lines that looked like cuts from knives. "How did you survive this? Why would anyone ever choose this life?"

She turned her attention back to his leg, taking brief note of a tattoo on his calf, a snake weaving its way in, out, and around a skull. Courtney poured a healthy fraction of a bottle of some kind of antiseptic onto his leg before reaching out for a suture kit. There wasn't anything else she could really do besides fight off infection and close the wound. She was no help to him if he had nerve or muscle damage. Closing the wound and making sure he didn't die in her presence was her only real option.

She knew how to suture. What else was her mother going to teach her as a child? Growing up, she would often spend hours of her day suturing fruit, or whatever kind of medical dummy her mother brought home, rather than playing with dolls or watching cartoons. Actually, the cartoons did happen, if Courtney could do anything, it was multi-task.

That was probably one of the many reasons her family was so shocked that she chose becoming a lawyer over being a doctor, why they were so surprised by her want to go to law school rather than medical school.

Courtney sutured quietly and quickly before the mumbling began. At first, the brunette just thought she was just hearing things, making up noises in her sleep deprived state, but it wasn't until the mumbling got loud, and turned into coherent words, that Courtney realized the Delinquent was starting to gain consciousness, or at the very least, feeling.

"Hey, hey," she cooed quietly, hoping to keep the criminal calm, "You're okay, you're safe. I'm helping you." His breathing began to become harsh and he looked as if he was trying to open his eyes but couldn't. His face scrunched up in pain and Courtney paused mid-suture. "Shhh, I know it hurts, but it's going to be okay." She reached out into the kit for a packet of dissolvable Motrin. "Keep this under your tongue," Courtney advised as she put the medicine in his mouth, "It's still going to hurt like a bitch, but it might help a bit." The Delinquent, the most dangerous person in the city, mumbled something incoherent once again, so soft and so broken sounding. "Shhh, it's okay, everything's okay." She pet his hair for a moment, fingers trailing down the side of his face gently before she began suturing again, not wanting to prolong the unpleasant pain.

* * *

Courtney sat on her kitchen counter, watching from a distance as the Delinquent slept on her couch. Beside her on the counter was a butcher knife, just in case of the possibility that he woke up ready for murder.

He hadn't woken up the slightest bit since his mumbling and Courtney had already finished aiding to all of his injuries.

Courtney cocked her head to the side as she watched the rise and fall of his chest, making sure that he hadn't kicked the can yet. How could someone so evil, someone so easily labeled monster, look so peaceful, so gentle, sleeping? Her mind rummaged through everything she knew about the skull masked gangster. He was leader of the Killer Bass Crew, led quite a few successful heists, had left many of dead bodies on the city's streets. Courtney remembered from the news and her knowledge of law, that he and his crew faced many of charges if they were ever caught by the police. She tried listing all the charges she could think of (armed robbery, first degree murder, assault and murder of a police officer, grand theft auto, reckless driving) but her list eventually grew too extensive and she quickly lost track.

What had she been thinking—well, other than not wanting to be murdered—bringing a well-rounded criminal into her home? He was a total danger to be around and here she was, a supposed smart lawyer, dragging him into her home and aiding him back to health despite her better judgement. Maybe she could just drag him back down to the alley where she found him. She had stitched up his wounds and taken care of him, he's probably be fine on his own now. He would probably live. Was it too late to call the police? Right as the thought came to her she heard a groan from across the room. She placed her hand on the handle of the knife as she watched the man on her couch wake up and begin to move.

The first thing he noticed was the pain. Everywhere. His entire body felt entirely sore, like he had been hit by a truck, which had happened before, so he knew the feeling was comparable. The next thing he noticed was the even stronger, more intense pain in his left thigh. Now that was a bullet wound if he knew one. _Fucking Screaming Gophers Crew_ , he thought to himself as he reached down to his leg to stop the inevitable bleeding. The third thing he noticed was that all his injuries seemed to be dealt with, sutured and bandaged up nice and neatly. Hell, it was probably the best care he'd gotten in years. Being in the Killer Bass Crew didn't really include having health insurance, and going to the hospital with a gunshot wound would only get the police called. As a result, himself and his crew often had to resort to makeshift fixes and amateur medicine. The next thing he noticed was that he seemed to be in a place he didn't recognize. If he had to guess, he thought it was safe to assume that he was in no real danger considering the nursing he was given and the homey vibe of the apartment. The last thing he noticed was the Hispanic woman sitting on the counter all the way in the kitchen.

She seemed to be watching him intently, trying to track what he would do next. He took note of the ready, yet unthreatening hold she had on a butcher knife and he couldn't blame her. He'd be ready to stab someone like him too.

"You're the one who did this?" he questioned, eyes drifting to his cut pant leg and stitched up wound. She nodded hesitantly, her grip never loosening from her knife.

"I found you in the alley, bleeding out from a bullet wound. You remember how you got that?" she asked confidently, at least as confident as a civilian talking to a gang leader could be. Most people's voices would waver when speaking to him, but this woman seemed to be able to get her words out clear and easy.

"It was a little gift from the Screaming Gopher Crew. They love a good exchange, and it wasn't even a special occasion," he said sarcastically, "Now I don't know how to top them for Christmas." He went to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the couch to get up but was stopped by the woman's panicked voice.

"Don't do that," she ordered, jumping down from the kitchen counter, knife still in hand, "You could mess up your sutures. Quite frankly, they beat the shit out of you. You really need to stay laying down for a while." He rolled his eyes, annoyed that this woman seemed to be wanting to boss him around, and annoyed that she felt the need to point out the Screaming Gophers had gotten an underhand on him. He went to meet her eyes and kindly tell her to fuck off and that he could take care of himself, but his voice refused to leave his throat when he saw the genuine concern on her features. He blinked at her for a second, trying to remember the last time someone, especially a civilian, shows such concern for him and his wellbeing.

"Thanks for the concern, Princess," he said more gently than he had originally planned, "but I have better places to be, you know, a whole crew to run, whole city to bring chaos to. I don't really need to stay up in some—" He paused glancing around the apartment. From the sutures and the many of medical encyclopedias, not to mention the general cleanliness of the apartment, to the level of OCD, he could gather that the lady was some kind of medical personnel. "Kind of doctor's apartment," he finished. The green haired man tried to hoist himself up and stand but felt nothing but a searing pain in his leg.

"Lawyer," the woman mumbled as he glanced back over at her, using her as an excuse to stop trying to stand. _Fuck_ did a bullet wound hurt.

"What?"

"I'm a lawyer, an attorney, not some kind of doctor," she said evenly as his eyebrows knitted in confusion. He surveyed the room again, this time noticing the whole section on her bookshelf devoted to law. He smirked to himself slightly. It had been a long time since he was wrong about an initial survey.

"And my name's _Courtney_ , not Princess," she said with venom as she crossed her arms, knife still clutched in hand. He raised an eyebrow at her, surprised by her boldness. No one ever corrected him, no one was ever brave enough to, and here this woman was doing it twice as if he was nothing to be feared.

"Do you have a name or do I have to call you by that awful alias of yours?" she, _Courtney_ , questioned as she set him with a glare. This girl was something.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he lied smoothly as she rolled her eyes. Her knowing he was more than likely some kind of criminal in a gang was one thing, it was easily expected in this city, but her knowing he was _the_ Delinquent, the leader of the Killer Bass Crew was another.

"Right, of course you don't. You do realize I saved your life, right? Not to mention I didn't call the cops to turn you in or leave you for dead, despite the possibility of me getting charged with aiding and abetting. I think you probably owe me a bit more honesty," Courtney said, grip still on her knife and eyes never wavering from their glare. From the look she was giving him, she looked ready to use her knife. He continued to stare at her with his false, dumbfounded confusion as she let out a sigh. "I saw that damn mask of yours. Everyone in the city knows the Delinquent's skull mask."

Shit, she already knew. She knew that he was the Delinquent. She knew that he led the city's most notorious gang. She knew that she had seen his face, had memorized his true identity. She knew how dangerous he was, how in danger she was by being near him, in the same room as him. Yet, there she was glaring at him like he was nothing more than a fool she met at a coffee shop. She wasn't in the least bit afraid of demanding answers from him. Of course, her bravery could simply be because he was so obviously injured and because she held a big ass knife in her grasp.

He watched her glare at him from across the room with interest. Here he was in some absurdly brave, or stupid, lawyer's apartment after she saved his life, with her glaring at him and practically challenging and threatening him to tell her his real name. Then again, she did save his life and she like she had pointed out, she hadn't called the cops on him, even going as far to risk her career as a lawyer. A fascinating woman indeed.

Despite her knife wielding and her never ending glare that made almost him uncomfortable, he didn't consider Courtney to be any kind of threat. Even with seeing his face behind the mask, he quickly realized it did not matter. She wouldn't ever be able to tell anyone without incriminating herself, and from the way she stood with perfect posture and the way her books were categorized and alphabetized, he highly doubted she would ever sacrifice herself and her career to turn him in.

"Duncan," he told her with a sigh as she raised an eyebrow at him, "My actual name is Duncan." Duncan watched for a moment as Courtney nodded slightly to herself, surprised that he had so willingly told her his name, or maybe it was because he didn't put up as much of a fight as she thought he would.

Duncan looked away from her, letting the reality that she knew the Delinquent's real name settle into her mind as he moved to get off the couch again. Boy, did it fucking hurt. He managed to get to his feet, but right as he did he felt an intense pain in his thigh and could've sworn he heard a pop, almost like the breaking of thread. Duncan let out a pained groan as Courtney abandoned her knife and rushed over to him.

"Told you you'd mess up your stitches," she mumbled as she helped him lay back down on the couch. An unwavering glare and an I told you so all in the same day, Duncan might have just found the woman of his dreams.

Courtney examined his leg, stating that only one of the stitches had broken. Duncan took the time of her examining his leg to get a better look at her. She had beautiful, large onyx-like eyes that seemed to always be reflecting her true emotions. He could see a shimmer of brown whenever she moved her head to a certain angle, but they were mostly black orbs that left him swooning. He counted the freckles on her nose—fourteen—as she glanced back up to his face.

"It really needs that last suture if you want it to heal quickly and avoid infection. Not to mention it's make the scar smaller," she told him, elbows resting on the couch as she looked up at him.

"Do it then."

"I don't think you realize how much that'll hurt. A needle and thread going through your skin without any pain medication or numbing agents. It was a lot easier to deal with when you were knocked out," Courtney said as Duncan shrugged. Her concern was endearing, almost cute, but Duncan had dealt with way more painful situations than she probably realized.

"Been there, done that. Besides, it can't hurt any worse than a bullet wound," he spoke teasingly, giving her a playful smile that she only slightly returned.

"You might be wrong on that one," she mumbled as she got out a new suture kit, pulling on gloves, "Sometimes the healing hurts a hell of a lot worse than the actual injury. Just because you're used to it, doesn't make it hurt any less." My god, Duncan was in love.

The criminal watched as Courtney moved to resuture his gunshot wound, her head tilting in concentration. Duncan let out a wince as the needle met skin and Courtney automatically met his eyes apologetically. He was suddenly overcome with the memory of waking up in pain, of being unable to move, unable to fully speak, his body still in shock of sorts. He remembered soft spoken words of assurance and gentle touches to his head, dragging gently down his skin.

Duncan gave her a look of reassurance, nodding at her to continue. It hurt like a bitch, but it was nothing he had never experienced before. Hell, in the crew he was always needing sutures or giving them. It was an everyday sort of affair. At least Courtney had a sort of professional touch and style and didn't have to improvise on the tools she used.

"So, a lawyer, huh?" Duncan questioned, wanting to get his mind off of the needle in his skin, and also wanting to learn so much more about the strange woman who saved his life despite knowing exactly who he was.

"Yeah," she said absentmindedly, almost as if she had forgotten all about talking to a criminal who she was stitching up, "I work as an ADA at the District Attorney's Office."

"Big girl job for someone so newly out of law school," Duncan commented as Courtney glared up at him, tugging a bit too hard when tying the knot. Duncan fought off a wince, not wanting to give her the satisfaction. "If you're a lawyer and not some kind of doctor, why do you know how to suture and why do you have so many medical books?"

Courtney was quiet for a moment as she relooked over her previous work, making sure Duncan hadn't caused anymore stitches to come out. "I started off as a pre-med student, but I changed it fairly quick. Within my first two years I became a law student."

"How'd you manage that without falling behind?"

"I skipped a few grades growing up, so by last year when I finally graduated law school I was pretty much with the peer group I was originally supposed to be with," she said as she cleaned up. Duncan tracked her movements across the room, and _damn_ , did that woman's hips sway.

"Why'd you switch it?" Duncan inquired. It wasn't often than Duncan questioned someone out of just sheer curiosity. He was normally questioning people to get information, to get the upper hand. Duncan had almost forgotten what it was like to just simply want to get to know someone, how nice it was.

"No one ever mentioned in all those news reports that the Delinquent asked so many questions," Courtney joked, looking over her shoulder to give him a playful grin, "I don't know. My mom always told me I should be a doctor, trained me to be one, and I recognize that I would've been good at it, I am good at it, but my motivations changed when I got to school. We had to review and discuss medical cases a lot, and most of them were the ones from around here. A lot of them were victims of the violence that goes on in this city, not illness or anything like that. I just figured there's so many people that we can't save, no matter how hard we try, but I could, wanted to, get justice for those people. I wanted to try to make this place better, even if it's only defending the innocent deceased."

Duncan's gaze dropped down in...guilt? It felt like someone had taken a knife to his heart, or maybe it was to his gut. Never in his life, never in the years of leading the Killer Bass Crew, did Duncan ever feel guilty about what they did. Of course, there was the occasional innocent civilian caught in the crossfire that left him with a bad taste in his mouth, but nothing like this guilt.

Courtney looked over her shoulder again when he got quiet, asking if he was okay. Duncan nodded as Courtney came back into the living room, sitting on the loveseat diagonal from the couch. He watched as she curled into a ball, hugging a pillow to her chest. Duncan looked out the window to see the sun already risen. She hadn't slept all night and it was obvious by the dark circles forming under her eyes.

"I should really tell my crew that I'm fine," Duncan mumbled as Courtney agreed gesturing to the coffee table where her phone was placed. Duncan reached out for it as carefully as he could, trying not to hurt himself once again.

Once her phone was in his hand, he cautiously watched her before dialing. Courtney, noticing his behavior shift, stood up from the loveseat and went to the kitchen, not very far away, but enough to be considerate. The less she heard about the Killer Bass, the better off she'd be.

"Hey, yeah, it's Duncan. It's a long story, I'll tell you when I get back. Just know I'm fine and that the Screaming Gophers have no idea what's coming to them. Okay. Yeah. Sounds good. See you then," Duncan said into the phone before hanging up, glancing over to the kitchen when he heard the brunette rummaging through cabinets. As he set Courtney's phone back on the coffee table, she returned with a mug of what he figured to be coffee in one hand and a bottle of water and cookie in the other.

"Here," she said, handing him the bottle and cookie before sitting back down on the loveseat, her legs dangling over the armrest.

Duncan watched her for a while, watched the way her fingers tapped on her mug as she stared back at him with a curious interest. She set him with a stern glare, nodding to the things in his hand, urging him to eat the damn cookie. He didn't need water and a cookie, he had dealt with bullet wounds and blood loss plenty of times before. He was practically a pro. Besides, for all Duncan knew, she could have poisoned the water or cookie.

Duncan shifted on the couch, squeezing his eyes shut when he was overcome with lightheadedness. Courtney gave him an amused, look that screamed I-told-you-so before once again gesturing to the water and cookie. He rolled her eyes before examining the bottle and food. The water didn't seem to have any tampering, and it held no cloudiness of any kind of dangerous substance. The cookie also looked to be a normal cookie, and Duncan couldn't smell any detectable poisons from it.

"Would you knock off the everyone's out to kill you act and just eat the damn cookie before I come over there and shove it down your throat?" Courtney snapped, obviously irritated after watching him examine the cookie for an annoyingly long time, "If I wanted to kill you, I would've left you in that alley."

Duncan rolled his eyes before giving in and opening the bottle and taking a bite from the cookie. If she wanted to play doctor so badly, then who was he to deny her a willing patient? Duncan exaggerated moaned about the deliciousness of the cookie as she chuckled lightly, sipping from her mug. He noticed the way she tapped her shoes together, her body practically vibrating. _She must be a major caffeine drinker,_ Duncan concluded as he watched Courtney tilt her head at him, her eyes still bravely trying to analyze...well him.

He hadn't been in her presence long, but Duncan could already tell that she was focused and determined, bravely so. She was probably a great lawyer, especially with how smart he had deemed her. Medical knowledge, lawyer, skipping grades, she had to be smarter than she looked. So, if she was so smart, why did she risk her career to save him, a deadbeat criminal bleeding to death in an alley? She didn't seem like the kind of person who broke rules, ever. She seemed like the person who had a stick so far up her ass that she could never bend to have fun. God, Duncan hated goody two shoes like that. There was something about this woman though that Duncan just could not take his eyes off of. Maybe it was in her glares and how she would seemingly forget that he was something to be feared, not someone to be talking back to. Or perhaps it was in the way she sneered that her name was _Courtney_ , not Princess. Or maybe it was the glint in her eyes, hidden behind all of her good doing, a glint that held the smallest bit of trouble. She seemed like a damn fun person to crease, to irritate to no end, and it would never get boring. A stressed out, over caffeinated, rule abiding lawyer had never seemed so appealing to him. Why the hell did a woman like Courtney save his life?

He asked her as much.

She seemed surprised by the abrupt question, but she quickly recovered and gave a shrug, her grasp tightening on her mug. "I just figured if I didn't, I'd end up dead by the hands of your crew," she told him. Duncan opened his mouth to deny that she would be murdered, but he quickly decided against it, knowing it to be true. If his crew was anything, it was loyal. They would take revenge on anyone involved in his death, without question, no matter how big or small the involvement was. "Besides, you don't really scare me." She met his gaze and Duncan expected to see a challenge reflecting in her eyes, or a teasing glint, but instead he was just met with genuine honesty. Was this chick really not afraid of him? Maybe he had given her too much credit. Maybe she wasn't as intelligent as she seemed.

"Oh really? The leader of the Killer Bass Crew, the Delinquent, doesn't scare you at all?" She saw the look in his eyes. Who knew the Delinquent had such brilliant blue eyes behind that mask? He wanted her to be afraid of him, this whole persona, his whole crew strived off of fear. He had come to expect it. But Courtney did not fear easily. Over her month in the DA's office, she had looked directly into the eyes of so many supposed monsters that she did not let herself be afraid anymore.

"I mean, the Delinquent kind of does. I'm a lot more afraid of the persona than the person, because I know that under that mask and under all the hype the media makes about you, you're human. You're a mere mortal with the same fears and limits as everyone else," Courtney explained, watching as Duncan absorbed her words and analyzed her every move. She gave him a small smile as he continued to watch her, much like she would if she was meeting with a defendant.

Courtney was vicious. She was a competitive, overachiever with a habit of being a bossy, control freak, but no one had to know that. She often, especially at her job, let her kind and easygoing nature take the forefront while her general viciousness worked in the background figuring out ways to best win her case.

"Is that how you deal with your cases? Reminding yourself they're human?"

A wide smile spread across Courtney's face before she asked, "What's your favorite color?" She had really been hoping he'd go down this route.

He gave her a confused look as she repeated the question once again, her eyes pleading with him to just go along with it. "Silver."

"There. You're human," Courtney whispered as if it was some kind of secret between them. Duncan's eyes almost slipped closed at the softness of her voice. "It's hard to see criminals as these unreachable, undefeatable monsters when you know their favorite color. Having a favorite color makes you human. Knowing trivial things about someone makes them seem like less of a bad person."

Duncan's lips twitched up in a smile as he watched her lazily turn her head to look at him. She gave him a smile before turning her head away, focus back on her mug, and god was Duncan screwed.

* * *

They sat like that for hours. Duncan sprawled out brokenly on her couch while she dangled out of her love seat. They talked and talked and Duncan had never been so open to anyone outside of his crew in such a long time. He wasn't sure what kind of witchcraft Courtney practiced, but something about her made him feel like he could tell her anything, spill his guts out. He listened to her talk about her most recent case, about her family, about the pressure she had placed on herself to make this city better. He asked her questions about herself and he swore he could listen to her talk forever. More importantly, when she asked about his life, he found himself spewing out words, unable to swallow them down. She asked about more trivial things, about if he had family, the first time he remembered being in love, about who his best friend was when he was twelve. She asked a million different things about his past and his now, but never once did she ask about anything about what he did, about his crew. Even when he inevitably mentioned the Killer Bass Crew in his stories, she did not flinch, she did not waver uncomfortably, nor did she show fear. Lord, Courtney was something else entirely.

"So, of course Geoff decided the best way to deal with the cops coming between us and our getaway car was to throw a grenade at them, right in the direction of our getaway car," Duncan recounted the tale of Geoff, his best friend and right-hand man in the crew, blowing up their getaway car with a laugh.

"He didn't," Courtney cooed out sympathetically between her giggles.

"Oh, he did," Duncan chuckled out as he watched her face fall from full blown giggles to a look on content.

"Can I ask you something personal?" she questioned, her head falling lazily to the side on the armrest.

"You've been asking me personal things," Duncan pointed out with an amused look as she gently glared at him.

"This is different," she said as he let out a sigh, waving for her to continue, "How did you get into all of...well everything? How'd you get into this life? How'd you become the Delinquent?" Duncan was silent for a moment, tapping his now empty water bottle against his abs in thought.

"Took you long enough to ask," he commented drily, "Honestly, I don't remember how it started. I guess you could say I never really had a normal childhood. I grew up a piece of shit kid who broke the law. I did a lot of shit, realized I could get paid big time by doing the things I was already doing for someone else, to keep their hands clean. I did that ever since. My mom died, my father trained me to be a contract killer like him, I did, he died. I did what I had to. Then, I started my own crew that I could control."

"So, essentially you've been the bad guy your whole life? Never the good guy?"

"There are no good guys," he deadpanned at her as her features twisted into one of confusion. She blinked at him for a second, as if she could not comprehend what he just said.

"Of course there are. There's law enforcement, lawyers—"

"All mere mortals," he interrupted.

"And what does that make you? Some kind of god?" she challenged, leaning forward to get a better look at him.

"No, I don't pretend to be something I'm not. I am just a mere mortal who pushes and breaks the law," he told her, hand reaching up to run through his mohawk.

"So, you think humans are inherently bad?" she questioned, leaning off her seat to place her more than likely cold cup of coffee on the table. She gave him her full attention and he could tell that he had caught her interest with this conversation.

"We all lie, we all do what we think is best to protect ourselves and our feelings, we're all selfish to point. Some people are just worse than others," Duncan explained to her, "I _know_ I'm the bad guy, the worst of the bad guys, the monster in the dark. The law though, everyday those guys pretend to be the good guys, but they're not. They're the ones that act as false gods as if they're a higher being, operating on some higher authority, sacrifice, and responsibility. In the end they're mortals, and we're not selfless, so they become corrupt, enact their own revenge schemes when they feel they weren't properly worshiped, they make their own justice and hurt innocence people in the process.

"Their pissing contest with me to rid themselves of their own shame and embarrassment, their need to take down the Killer Bass Crew and prove to all the naysayers that they aren't failures, their need to take us down at all costs even if it means risking innocent lives, it makes them no better than me, makes them one of the bad guys.

"You know, that same outlook is what took out Bonnie and Clyde and a lot of the other greats. A hundred and thirty shots. At least hundred and thirty shots were fired at them. A bit of an overkill if you ask me. It's especially an overkill when you consider the fact that it was a surprise ambush with practically immediate kill shots and not chance for them to even so much as think about firing back. Do you know why they fired over a hundred and thirty shots into that car? It's really simple when you realize there's no good guys. It was because Bonnie and Clyde made the police look like fools and the media picked up on it. It was because they were embarrassed of being made fools of, of getting reprimanded every time Bonnie and Clyde escaped the police. It all comes down to revenge and their own personal gain."

"Bonnie and Clyde were criminals on the run, though," Courtney pointed out as Duncan took a moment to fully appreciate that glint in her eyes. She was a woman who appreciated a good conversation, especially ones that tested her opinions and intellect. Duncan could see that look though, that fire that he had started. She wanted to argue. Damn, no wonder she was a lawyer. Duncan would never tire of that fire.

"It doesn't make it right," he volleyed back, "A _hundred and thirty_ rounds. A definite death sentence from a posse who deemed their vengeance superior. An execution without so much as a fair right to justice, without ever seeing a trial. All because the law thinks they're above the law."

"Don't you think you're above the law?" Courtney questioned quietly as Duncan chuckled lightly.

"No one's truly above the law. I know what I'm doing, I know the wrong I'm doing, and I know one day this life is going to kill me, but I know I'm going down fighting, in a fury of bullets and fire."

"So, you're saying, the law is going to beat you one day?" Courtney questioned teasingly to the Delinquent, the man who seemed so unbeatable.

"The longer you play the bad guy, the more you push the limits of the law, the more you cross the line, the quicker your death will come. To each their own. One day their day will come and the fury will rain down on them," Duncan said, arms crossing across his chest.

"And you're okay with that? You're okay with knowing that one day you're going to die because of this?" Courtney inquired, her eyes soft with sympathy.

"Anyone who does what I do, who's not okay with the risk of dying is in the wrong profession," he told her with a shake of his head. It was stupid to be in a profession and not accept the risk. Courtney opened her mouth to speak, but she was cut off with a yawn. "You've been up all night dealing with me, you should sleep."

"I'm fine," she yawned out.

"As the city's most wanted, most dangerous criminal, you do realize I can threaten you into going to sleep, right?" Duncan joked as Courtney gave him a tired smile.

"Okay, okay," she caved in with a laughter filled sigh, "I wouldn't want to be stabbed by the Delinquent." Duncan frowned at that, feeling the need to assure her that he wouldn't actually hurt her, but the tired, joking smile she gave him made all the tension in his chest dissipate. He returned her gentle smile as she mumbled out, "Tell me a good story, where everything went right."

"As you wish, Princess," he spoke out softly, "In one of our first jobs as a crew, Geoff found this stray kitten, and my god, once DJ saw it, I could not get them to let it go..."

Courtney listened to him talk about his job derailed by a kitten with a gentle smile. Her eyes slowly began to droop at the lullaby of his voice and she was asleep with the sound of his voice still rings in her ears before she knew it.

* * *

Courtney woke up with a groan, glancing over at her clock as she rubbed her eye like a small toddler. It was well past noon, and Courtney could not remember the last time she slept in so late. She glanced around the room, surprised to find herself tucked under the covers of her bed. She could've sworn she had fallen asleep in her living room. She stretched her arms out before tossing her legs over the side of the bed, ready to get up. That's when it hit her.

Duncan. The Delinquent. She had saved his life last night. She had talked to him like old friends for hours until he demanded she sleep. She had left him on her couch, still injured.

Courtney got up from her bed, quickly leaving her bedroom to enter her living room. It was empty. No one in slight. _Was I really that sleep deprived that I made up some dream about meeting the Delinquent?_ Courtney questioned herself tiredly as she shook her head and made her way to the kitchen to make coffee. She tried to ignore the pang of disappointment that it had all just been a dream. Why was she upset? She should be happy that she never really crossed paths with that monster. She told herself this over and over as she made and poured herself coffee, but the disappointment still covered her like a blanket and she wasn't completely sure why.

She set down her mug and went to grab her abandoned case file from the counter but paused when she saw a piece of notebook paper beside it. She reached for it cautiously, quickly realizing that it wasn't her handwriting. _I didn't make it up_ , Courtney realized. She shook the thought away as she began to read the note, written in a chicken scratch. His letters were sharp and written out hastily and Courtney briefly wondered if this could be used as evidence against her.

 _Courtney,_

 _Sorry, I had to leave, my crew needed me and I had places to be. On a side note, don't go near the bank by Fourth Street any time today. I didn't want to wake you up, so I just carried you to your bedroom and left._

 _Anyways, thanks for the save, Princess, and for the company. Anytime you're in trouble don't hesitate. The Killer Bass owe you one. I owe you one._

 _Until a hopeful next time, Duncan_

 _P.S. Sorry for getting blood on your couch, I hope you'll forgive me since I was dying at the time._

Marked at the of his name was a quickly drawn skull, similar to one of the tags often seen around the city. Courtney glanced over to her couch to see that there was indeed a large blood stain in the shape of Duncan's leg. She let out a sigh as she tossed the note back on the counter, thrilled to be cleaning that stain up later. She went to grab her coffee again and return back to her bedroom where she could ignore the memories of Duncan being in her home, but she paused when she noticed what was laid beside the note.

In a messy stack, as if it had been thrown without thought onto the counter was four hundred-dollar bills. She stared at them as if they would disappear before grabbing them and examining them to the light. They were real alright. Damn, when Duncan wanted to apologize for getting blood on her couch, he definitely apologized. Courtney tossed the bills back onto the counter, unsure if she was seriously going to take Duncan's more than likely blood money to buy herself a new couch. Instead, she turned her attention to the more interesting object.

Written out on a sticky note was another set of chicken scratched letters.

 _I have to leave something for you to remember be by other than a blood-soaked couch. So, consider this a souvenir. It's all yours, Princess. -Duncan._

Courtney removed the sticky note to reveal a circular, metal enamel pin that bore the emblem of the Killer Bass Crew. The brunette ran her fingers along the cool metal, feeling the divots and rises of details. She recognized it from the many security photos she had seen on the news. The Killer Bass Crew members each had one, wearing them with pride, membership, and ownership whenever they went on some kind of spree. Seems like Duncan to give someone who saved his life his gang pin as a souvenir.

Then again, Duncan didn't just hand these pins out willy-nilly. Even when new members joined the Killer Bass, they were often not seen with their emblem for a few weeks. Almost as if they had to first earn it. Courtney examined it more closely, purposefully ignoring the red smear on one side of what she was convinced wasn't blood. The pin seems to be hand made, but perfectly so, as if care and consideration was taken into every detail. If it wasn't for it being the emblem of a gang, it would be a beautiful work of art. What the hell was Duncan doing given something so meaningful to his crew, so obviously made with tender care to a random stranger? Courtney reached out for the post it note again, hoping to find some kind of meaning of clues into his words. Instead, she found a p.s. written on the back.

 _P.S. If you ever get tired of that lawyer job of yours or you ever just need something else, consider this an indefinite open offer._

And just like that the Delinquent was out of her life. He came in a whirlwind of trouble and he was out before she could even fully process. She was clean of his presence and free to believe that she had never met him, had never seen his face, never knew his name. She was free to forget all about him.

Oh god, how she wished that had been true.

* * *

Oooh, ominious.

I think I'm going to make this a collection of connecting one shots. I would write it into an actual story but 1. I'm not very disciplined when it comes to writing stories, I need to focus on one at a time, and 2. I don't have an over arc plot idea, just things that work out better as one shots.

Anyways, thanks for reading 3 I hope you enjoyed.

Reviews make me a happy writer :)


	2. hard edges, soft hearts

This chapter is also called everyone needs to stop harassing Courtney before she throat punches you. This chapter took so long because I'm in college and while I love it, I never have time to write. As I'm typing this, I should be writing a 5 page paper, but I'm doing this instead. So, uh, despite my better judgement and the forces of evil pushing me to do so, this is an actual story now. Also, I edited this during class so there might be mistakes still.

* * *

"Veras!" The shouting of her name made Courtney jolt in surprise, hitting her elbow on the file cabinet she had been shuffling through. She grinded her teeth together as she rubbed at her throbbing elbow, holding in the shouting of a curse word not meant for the work place. She glanced in the direction that her name had been called, watching grumpily as one of her coworkers made his way towards her.

He was one of those lawyers who looked way too young to be in front of the stand, not to mention he was probably the most soft-spoken, nonconfrontational person she had ever met. She was fairly certain she could halfheartedly raise a fist to him and he would cower in fear. Then again, Courtney was always seen as intimidating, especially to her coworkers. It was not her fault that she was naturally driven! Anyways, he always looked disheveled, and not in an attractive, purposeful way. Nothing like Duncan, a little voice, that she had been trying to beat down and lock away, thought despite her irritation and denial.

Rather, he always looked anxious, like he was always working late into the night on the biggest case of his career. However, that did not stop him from being a sexist dick. The tie of his suit was often loosened in the way that only came across as stress and his hair was always sticking up in all sorts of directions, as if he had been pulling on it in frustration. She had no idea how he had become a lawyer, especially one at the DA's office, but more importantly she wasn't sure how he had been given more cases than her.

He wasn't even more qualified than her, nor had he been at the DA's office much longer than her. Any case Courtney had ever been on, the verdict was guilty. It was no coincidence. It was with her help and her scrutiny over details that won all of those cases. Hell, she had even won her first solo case, which had definitely earned her some brownie points with her boss. She was just hoping that it would tempt him into giving her more cases, more responsibility. Courtney was just desperate to get off probation and show her true worth and what she could do for this office and the city.

"Have you seen the news recently?" her coworker questioned as he finally reached her. Courtney briefly eyed him, eyed the way he leaned casually against the wall beside the file cabinet as he spoke to her. She turned back to her shuffling folders, taking brief note that his tie was indeed loosened and his hair was indeed pointing in every direction. How did this guy even get this job? He was so unprofessional looking. Have some pride in the way you look at work!

"Can't say I have," Courtney replied dully, her eyes on the many of file folders she was riffling through, "I've been sort of busy with work." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him nod as if he had already known that his eyes looking in less than appropriate places. Gross, Courtney thought to herself with an eye roll, but nonetheless she found herself checking what she was wearing, making sure nothing had risen up and that she didn't look as unprofessional as him. Courtney couldn't even bear the thought of looking so unprofessional in the work place.

"Yeah, I heard you won that first case of yours. Congrats," he said, his eyes trailing down her body, "Still married to the job, I see."

"Thank you. What happened in the news?" Courtney inquired quickly when she saw her coworker open his mouth, seemingly to go in for the kill. He relaxed back against the wall as Courtney's gaze moved to his, waiting for him to spill.

"The Killer Bass Crew got away with a bank heist this week, which isn't very surprising, but they tore off with easily over half a million and went on a huge city-wide police chase," he told her and Courtney felt a knife to her gut. She suddenly felt like she was going to be sick. Hoping her face didn't show her sudden nausea, she turned away, staring intently back at the many of files, shuffling through them as if she had a purpose. "How did you not hear about that?"

"Like I said, I've been fairly busy with the job. Cases won't close themselves," she said, reaching out her arm to wave him off, "Besides, the Bass pull off heists all the time and they definitely bother the police more than they should, sadly there's nothing really crazy about that story."

"That wasn't even the crazy part. The crazy part was that the Screaming Gophers Crew cut off the Bass and they started having a shoot off with each other," her coworker whispered excitedly to her, and Courtney was sure her heart was in her stomach. Heists were normal. Police chases, normal. Gangs fighting and getting into turf wars, normal. Having a full on shoot out during a police chase for no apparent reason, not even close to normal, not even for this city. What the hell was Duncan getting himself into?

"Did the police arrest anyone from the gangs?" Courtney asked and she prayed her voice sounded like normal curiosity and not at all as panicked as she felt.

"No," he said with annoyance and Courtney tried to keep from letting out a breath she didn't know why she was holding, "The Delinquent must have ordered his crew to fall back from the Gophers, because before anyone knew it, he was taking his getaway car and wrecking his way back through the police cars and away from the whole scene." He shook his head as if he couldn't believe it himself. "That Delinquent might be a total psychopath, but if he's one thing it's lucky. The way he tore out in that getaway car, man, it was some skill. He got everything he wanted. He ran away with the money, escaped the police, and escaped the Gophers."

"Typical day in the city," Courtney spoke with a shrug and she wished she had something more casual to say.

"I suppose," he agreed before turning his attention solely back to her, "You know, if you ever wanted to go out into the city sometime, you'd be a lot safer with me than alone." He took a step closer to her and dragged his fingers up her arm. Courtney took a step back, shutting the file cabinet and grabbing the file she had been looking for.

"Do you really want to sexually harass your lawyer coworker in the workplace?" Courtney questioned with an eyebrow raise and a subtle sneer to her tone, holding the file close to her. He opened his mouth to retort something back, but Courtney swiftly beat him to it. "I'd have your job and a winning judgement before you could even come up with some sexist, women blaming lie." Her coworker backed up slightly when he took in the full look of the raging fire in Courtney's eyes. That woman could make anyone afraid. She was serious and everyone in the office, except the boss man apparently, knew that Courtney could win a case with her eyes closed, especially one of sexual harassment in the workplace. "Walk away and take this as a learning lesson before I report you to HR and file a lawsuit."

The man scurried away as Courtney let out a sigh. She made her way down the hall, heading back to her office—well, her mentor's office that she worked out of. As the anger dissipated out of her, the nausea set in again. She felt like there was a lump in her throat and a knife twisting in her side.

It had been weeks since she had met, and more importantly, last seen the Delinquent. Duncan. By that point she had almost forgotten about the entire thing. She had practically forced the memory of taking care of the criminal out of her mind. She never at all thought about him and every second of their chance encounter. She had succeeded in forgetting about it entirely save for the times she caught sight of the Killer Bass emblem sitting on her bedside table, and it was only during those fleeting moments that Courtney's stomach would fill with hornets. She usually pushed away the feeling before she could ever fully analyze why just the simple remembrance of the Delinquent made her feel so out of control.

Mentioning the Killer Bass Crew, and more specifically their leader, made the memories of that night flood back to the forefront of her mind. She could practically still feel those blue orbs of Duncan's staring at her, watching her every movement as she talked endlessly. She could still hear the softness of his voice as he told her stories of his life and recounted tales of his crew that, despite herself, left her heart pounding and her ears buzzing with excitement. All of it left a bad taste in her mouth and an awful feeling in the pit of her stomach. Courtney wasn't sure why she was so anxious about the mention of the Killer Bass. It wasn't like she was actually a part of their gang, not that she hadn't been given an offer, and no one knew that she had saved Duncan's life. No one could connect her to them and especially not to their bank heist.

Courtney tried to ignore and swallow down the pesky feeling that maybe she wasn't just concerned with her own self. No, it wasn't that. Courtney was deeply and disturbingly selfish. She only cared about herself and her career. Right? Oh hell, who was she kidding? Everyone knew that Courtney cared deeply about her clients, her cases, justice, and protecting the city. That was anything but selfish.

Courtney raked her fingers through her hair, tugging a little too forcibly. This whole moral standing and confusion was the exact reason Courtney had been trying to force any thought of the Delinquent out of her mind. She wasn't sure who gave him the power, but from the second she decided to help him, he had a way of getting under her skin and wrapping her up in a whirlwind of thoughts, most of which involved her moral standing and the annoyance of wondering why she was so caught up in a criminal.

Just because Courtney wasn't completely selfish, it didn't mean that she cared about what happened to Duncan. She could care less. Hearing of his heists and wrongdoings on the news and feeling anything about it was just her being concerned about her city, or even her own safety. He was a criminal, who knew what he was doing or what he was planning on doing. Courtney doubted his crew even knew what was going through his head half of the time. His choice of life would catch up to him eventually one way or the other, he said so himself. Why would she care if that day was today or twenty years from now? She didn't know him. She had spent not even a full day with him. She didn't care about what he did and if he got caught for it. So what if he was involved in a car chase and was shot at. Just because he stared at her like he knew everything about her didn't mean she should care.

Her phone rang a shrill cry as she jumped out of her thoughts. She grabbed out her phone, taking note of the number that flashed across the screen. She didn't recognize it.

"Hello? Courtney Veras speaking," she answered as she held the phone between her ear and shoulder, shuffling to open the door to her—mentor's—office. She made her way into the office, turning on the light and tossing the files she held onto the desk.

"Do you always answer your phone so professionally?" the caller questioned with amusement, "What era are you living in?"

"Who is this?" Courtney inquired as she grabbed her phone, more attentive on the caller than before.

"Ouch, am I really that forgettable?" the male asked, fake hurt obvious in his voice, "I guess I must have just blended in with all of the criminal gang leaders you meet in an alley and save." Courtney's body automatically stiffened at his words. She had immediately recognized his voice, but she was hoping against hope that she was wrong. She glanced to the door, making sure it was shut before peeking out the blinded, interior window, making sure no one was paying attention to the office.

"How the hell did you get my number?" Courtney sneered into the phone, trying to hide the panic she was feeling. Duncan couldn't be calling her. Hell, this call alone would forever be in her phone records.

"I used your phone to call my crew, remember?" Duncan said casually into the phone as if it was no big deal at all that he was contacting her.

"You can't be calling me," Courtney spoke, her voice becoming panicky with the thought that the Delinquent just had her number to call whenever. He probably had her saved in his phone as Princess.

"Relax, Princess," he cooed into the phone as Courtney let out a frustrated sigh. She hated when people told her to calm down, it made her anything but calm. She especially hated hearing Duncan telling her to relax, especially when he called her Princess, and especially when the memory of his soothingly soft voice recounting good stories did make her calm down. "Everything's covered, you have nothing to worry about. There won't be any records that I called you, no one can find out where I am, I got all my bases covered. Call it the perks of being a gang leader."

Courtney let out a relieved sigh, glad that no one would ever know the Delinquent was calling her. To the outsider world, Courtney Veras had no connection with the Delinquent. Sadly, Courtney knew the truth. That despite if she wanted it or not, she was connected to Duncan, he had made sure of it.

"Why are you calling me, Duncan?" she questioned almost desperately, "Is this just some twisted call to threaten me and reiterate that if I ever tell anyone who you are you'll have your crew kill me?"

"Do you really think that lowly of me?" Duncan asked, his voice almost sounding hurt over the phone, "You think I'd just threaten you and let my crew just kill you?" The hurt in his voice was nearly impossible to associate with the Delinquent. Courtney was quickly learning that it was hard to identify the Delinquent and Duncan as the same person. The monster she had seen on the news, the one she often heard about during her time in the city, was nothing to what she had seen of Duncan. It was hard to imagine the man who told her a bedtime story as the masked man who went on car chases and shot police officers. But that's exactly who he was.

"I don't know you," she whispered into the phone, her voice so soft and sincere. There was silence on the other side of the line and Courtney had to strain to hear if Duncan was even still on the line.

Across the city, in an undisclosed location, in a Killer Bass hideout, Duncan closed his eyes and let out a tired sigh, running a hand through his mohawk. He leaned back onto his bed, moving to stare at the ceiling of his bedroom. Duncan had never been in such a situation. He had never before wanted someone to know him, to not fear him. Courtney was something special, something unusual. Not many people, especially a goody-two-shoes, would see someone they recognized as a known criminal, a gang member, and save them. Yet, Courtney did. Duncan had never before so desperately wanted someone to be unafraid of him, wanted them to know who he was behind the persona.

The whispering of his name broke him out of his thoughts as he quietly said, "I'm not calling to threaten you and I would never let my crew hurt you. I was just calling to see how my favorite ADA is doing."

"Your favorite ADA?" Courtney questioned with amusement as she moved to sit in the desk chair. Duncan let out a chuckle, low and breathy.

"You did save my life," Duncan pointed out, "And you didn't turn me into the police."

"I'm sure a lot of people have saved your life."

"You're still my favorite." Courtney bit back a smile as she let out a quiet breathy laugh. Despite Duncan being nowhere near her, she could not give him the satisfaction of knowing he made her smile, and she was definitely going to deny for the rest of her life the fact that he made her blush.

"You know, I heard this crazy rumor about the Delinquent going on a huge police chase after robbing a bank," Courtney said, changing the subject, "Would you happen to have any insider information about that rumor?" Duncan could hear the playfulness in her voice and it made him smile.

"Well, as a close associate to the Delinquent, I can assure you that the rumors are true," he joked back.

"How are you after all that? That getaway car of yours probably had quite a few bullets in it," Courtney said seriously, leaning back in her chair. In the back of her mind, she noted that she might have been too comfortable talking to Duncan, but for now she ignored it.

"I'm fine, Courtney. The police are nothing. I've been dealing with them so long that they are no longer even a threat," Duncan assured her with a chuckle. Running from the police was always his favorite part of any job, but some days he wished it was more of a challenge. He was so accustomed to it, knew the city's layout so well, that he could escape from the police without much thought or challenge. Of course, the challenge usually came in the form of a shootout, but once he escaped that, he was guaranteed to get home free.

"Well, the police weren't exactly what I was talking about. The way the Gophers showed up, guns blazing, sure sounds an awful lot like that beginnings of a gang war," Courtney commented, hoping that Duncan didn't fabricate some idea in his mind that she was concerned. Of course, Duncan being Duncan, that's exactly what he did.

"Are you saying you're worried about me, Princess?" he questioned with a purr as Courtney rolled her eyes. Of course, unbeknownst to her, Duncan wasn't simply just trying to get under her skin. He didn't want to talk about the Screaming Gophers. Since shooting him and the Bass getting their version of revenge, there had been tension between the two groups. He wasn't sure if it could be heading in the direction of a gang war, but it was tense and definitely getting more dangerous.

"What? No, of course not," Courtney shrieked out in outrage, "I just don't need you showing up at my door with a bullet wound."

"Who said I'd come to you for help?" Duncan questioned and Courtney just knew he was smirking, "It's cute that you want to take care of me, but I've got it taken care of." Courtney rolled her eyes, trying to come up with the best argument as to why she would never want to take care of him.

"I don't want to take care of you! I'd shut the door right in your face. You got one favor from me and I'm most definitely not doing you anymore, especially not now that I know how annoying you truly are!"

"Sure, Princess," he said smugly with an unbelieving shrug.

"You believe it!" Courtney shrieked into the phone and was even more irritated by the chuckle Duncan let out. Man, he was right, messing with her was fun. "I'm serious, you mongrel."

"Insulting," he teased and Courtney resisted the urge to shriek bloody murder into the phone, or throw her phone. She opened her mouth to throw out a plethora of insults, but was stopped by the office door opening.

"Veras, I have great news!" her mentor, Chris McLean, announced as he entered the room. The man moved to shut the door and Courtney heard the beginning of Duncan speaking before she hung up, throwing her phone down on the desk as if it was toxic. "Did I interrupt something?" Chris eyed her phone as she gave him a forced smile.

"No, of course not," she spoke sweetly, "Just arguing with a telemarketer."

"Right," Chris drawled out, eyeing her suspiciously. Chris McLean was the man who taught her everything she knew. He was an amazing lawyer and had been involved in many of famous cases. He was an unforgiving lawyer and very cunning in his tactics. Despite being an amazing, well respected lawyer, he was sort of a pain in the ass to deal with. Courtney respected him, to an extent, and she had learned so much being brought under his wing, but he was a bit too eccentric for her tastes. He was definitely not the kind of personality she would spend time with outside of work.

"What's your great news?" Courtney questioned with a raised eyebrow.

"Right, you have just been given another solo case," he told her, his original excitement returning as he handed her a case folder. She took it eagerly, flipping through it to get the gist of it for the time being.

"This is a murder case," Courtney deadpanned as she looked up at him in confusion, "Just a few weeks ago no one around here trusted me enough to read a case file on my own, and now I'm being given a murder case to present on my own."

"Why can't you ever just be happy with what you're given?" Chris sighed out.

"Because it doesn't make any sense."

"You did good on that petty theft case," Chris commented as Courtney sent him a glare, "Okay look, you've been proving yourself around here, and you're doing good. You've won every case you've been on. This murder case is a test."

"A test for what? Getting off probation?" Courtney questioned as Chris glanced around the room, as if he was suspicious of someone eavesdropping, before leaning in.

"This case is difficult, really difficult. It's not impossible, but it's going to take someone really good. If you prosecute this case, they're considering putting you on a huge case, a case that will make your career, and not as some sit in or assistant, but as a major player" Chris whispered to her.

Courtney blinked at him. Once. Twice. This was what she had been waiting for. A chance to prove herself. This was a make or break moment. One case was standing in front of her and what Chris was calling the case that'll make her career. She didn't give a damn if the case was impossible, she was going to get a guilty verdict. She was putting her whole career, her getting off of probation, her proving herself, her pride, everything on making this case a success so she could get to that huge, career making case.

"I won't let you down," she spoke firmly as Chris gave her a smile and a nod.

"Never thought you would," Chris said as he watched her flip open her new case file, "I'm heading down to the courthouse." He reached across the desk and took the files that she had grabbed earlier as Courtney glanced back up.

"Do I need to go—"

"No, stay here, look over your case," Chris said with a wave as he headed for the door, files in hand, "Just make sure you lock everything up when you're done for the day." Courtney gave him a smile of appreciation right as her phone rang. She rolled her eyes when she saw that it was the same number as before. "I'll let you get back to your booty call." Did Courtney mention that he was also inappropriate?

"It's not a boo—"

"See you later, Veras!" Chris said as he left his office, shutting the door behind him. Courtney let out a frustrated sigh before answering her phone despite her better judgement.

"Did you hang up on me?" Duncan questioned before Courtney could even get out a greeting. Courtney rolled her eyes as Duncan continued ranting, mostly playfully, into her ear about the utter disrespect and how wrong it was to hang up on a friend. As if she would ever consider Duncan a friend.

"Duncan, you can't be calling me right now," Courtney interrupted him during one of his breathing pauses.

"Are you just saying that because it's me?"

"No, I'm saying that because I'm at work, and more specifically I'm at the DA's office where they would be more than happy to throw you in prison for the rest of your days," Courtney spoke softly, flipping through the file.

"Good to know you care," Duncan joked.

"I don't want to go to prison," Courtney said absentmindedly, reading over the defendant's police record, "And I especially don't want to go to prison because of you."

"I wouldn't let you go to prison," Duncan sighed out in disappointment as if he couldn't believe she would doubt him.

"What are you going to do break me out?" she mumbled out, "Then I'd be stuck on the run with you, which is the last thing I want."

"Why do you sound like your heart isn't really in this back and forth?" Duncan questioned, "I'm giving you my all here, sweetheart."

"Sorry," Courtney apologized, briefly forgetting that she was talking to someone she never wanted to apologize to, "I just got a really big case. I'm kind of distracted by it."

"Didn't you get a really big case the day we met?"

"This is a murder trial. Everything rides on this case."

Duncan smiled to himself at the sense of pride she held in her voice. He could practically see the determination in her eyes.

"As riveting as this conversation has been, I really do need to go," Courtney said sweetly, her voice taking on what Duncan swore was an apologetic tone.

"Yeah, yeah. Go save the city, Princess."

"Go tear up the city, Delinquent."

"Don't tempt me."

* * *

Courtney let out a sigh as her heels clicked against the floor, the belling ringing gently as she pulled open the door. It felt as if everyone's eyes suddenly turned to her, watching as she made her way to the bar. She didn't really belong there, well, at least she didn't look like she belonged there. Still dressed in her work clothes, the bar didn't seem to be her forte, but after her day she really needed a drink stronger than wine.

The Boathouse was one of the few bars in the city that wasn't openly affiliated with a gang. It was also one of the few places where someone would actually be kicked out for causing trouble. The few times Courtney had come there when her alcohol stash was too depleted or when she needed something stronger, she enjoyed. She felt safe—as safe as the city could get—there. She never thought she would openly get stabbed or carried away by some drunk guy. Of course, said men still watched her and tried to talk to her, but Courtney could manage that, especially when she sat at the bar where the bartender was constantly keeping an eye on her.

Courtney took a seat at the bar, keeping her bag in grasp.

"Tequila, please," she said as she shuffled through her bag briefly to pull out her card. Before she knew it, she was casually sipping on her drink, mind focused more on identifying the bottles on the wall behind the bar than anything else.

Out of the corner of her she noticed a body move to sit in the stool next to her, making she shift away slightly. She was the only person sitting at that side of the bar, so no one needed to sit directly beside her. She chose to ignore it, focusing on trying to read the far away labels of the bottles. Oooh, Kahlúa, she mused to herself right as the person beside her moved to face her.

"You seem awfully lonely over here," the man, who seemed to be at the very least tipsy, said, "You seem like you could use some company."

"I'm fine, really," Courtney assured the man, turning to once again face the infinite supply of alcohol.

"Let me get you another drink," the man once again spoke up, "What are you drinking?"

"I'm fine, really, I still have half of my drink left," Courtney said.

"Come on, another drink wouldn't hurt," he said as he went to place his hand over her's. The brunette moved her hand and drink away quickly, tempted to move over to another stool.

"Thank you for the offer, but I really have to decline," Courtney spoke politely, hoping the man would take the hint and she wouldn't have to pepper spray him.

"Well, if you don't feel like a drink, how bout we get out of here," the man suggested as he shifted closer to her despite her obvious discomfort and uninterest. He reached out a hand and placed it on her knee, trailing his hand up her thigh. Okay, new booth it is then, Courtney thought to herself as she quickly knocked the man's hand away and got out of her seat.

In her rush, her feet got caught on the stool's leg. She stumbled backwards for a second before fully gathering her things and turning to walk to a new booth. Right as she turned around and right as the man began to protest, she ran directly into someone, spilling the rest of her drink over herself. Fuck.

"I think the nice lady here would prefer if you left her alone," the person she ran into said as she glanced up into brilliant blue eyes. In that moment she wasn't sure if the universe was conspiring against her or was giving her a gift. Her now stalker, forever attached to her, was her saving grace. People feared Duncan, even without knowing he was the Delinquent, he was fairly intimidating. No one would mess with her while he was looming over.

Duncan stared down the tipsy man, not even attempting to meet Courtney's gaze despite the want to. He hadn't seen the woman who saved his life in person in a number of weeks now. He wanted nothing more than to look into those dark brown, almost onyx eyes of her's. The last time he saw her, he had been a bit disassociated from reality with a gunshot wound, but he had tried to memorize every detail of her. Of course, once he got back home to the Killer Bass's hideout, he properly researched into her, but it wasn't the same. Knowing she was an only child, of a very successful businessman and doctor, who graduated top of her class at some prestigious law school was nothing compared to being able to see her in person.

"I think you need to mind your own business," the man said as he stood up from his bar stool. Duncan stepped in front of Courtney, leaving her staring at the spot he was previously in bewilderment.

"You should leave," Duncan warned lowly. The man seemed to not be backing down from Duncan, so he once again took a step forward threateningly, pulling out his switchblade. "Before I make you." The switchblade looked freshly sharpened to a deadly point, and from what the standbys—witnesses—could tell, it was well used. Duncan held the switchblade firmly in his grasp, prepared to attack if he needed to. He wasn't playing any childish games. He wasn't waving his weapon around threateningly, he wasn't giving some lengthy threats. He was sure and ready to attack at the blink of an eye, absolutely dangerous.

"Chuck, stop causing trouble," the bartender called out from the other side of the bar.

"Yeah, Chuck," Duncan drawled out sarcastically, but somehow it was still completely threatening, "Stop causing trouble." The man, Chuck, backed away slowly, his hands thrown up in a surrender.

"Sorry man, I didn't realize she was taken," he apologized, backing away the entire time as he did.

"Well, remember it for next time," Duncan warned lowly, "And warn everyone else not to mess with her either, unless they want to deal with me." Chuck backed up the entire length of the building, escaping from the bar through the front door, giving a panicked nod to Duncan as he went.

"Don't hit on any women!" Courtney shouted after him after a moment of thought. Duncan wasn't her boyfriend, nor her keeper, nor did he speak for her. She was grateful—a gross thought—that Duncan had seemingly come out of nowhere and helped her out, but she didn't want people just avoiding her because they were afraid of Duncan. She needed people to be afraid of her, to cower away even when Duncan wasn't around.

Duncan turned to give her his full attention, their eyes meeting again for the first time in weeks. God, my memory doesn't do her justice, Duncan thought to himself as he took her in. She wearing her business attire—hot—and boy, did she look good. She had that sort of powerful, classy, but sexy look going on.

Courtney raised a brow at him as she too took him in for the first time without him bleeding out everywhere. He was taller than her, she didn't realize that the night she met him. The height difference was only by a few inches, but it was enough to irritate Courtney to no end.

Duncan fought back a smile as he reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "You just attracted all sorts of unwanted attention, don't you Princess?" he breathed out. Courtney chuckled, glancing down for a second before meeting his gaze again.

"Must be that kind of luck that keeps me finding criminals in alleys," she teased as bit too easily for comfort, "I pull them in, then I just can't get them to stop calling or running into me." Duncan smiled brightly at her, laugh hanging off of his lips as he shook his head and turned away from her to the bar.

"Can we get the lady something to dry off with?" he asked the bartender, who gave him a stiff nod. Courtney glanced down at her blouse, remembering that she spilt half a glass of tequila on herself.

"Can I get you a replacement drink?" Duncan questioned as he handed her a clean dishtowel.

"I suppose I do owe you some company for threatening the town for me," Courtney said sarcastically as she dabbed at the wet spots on her clothes.

"Two bourbons," Duncan said over to the bartender as Courtney grinned. She threw the dishtowel back on the counter, dried the best she could get, before raising a brow at him. "You seem like a classic kind of gal," Duncan said as a way of explanation, giving a shrug.

Two glasses were placed in front of them on the counter as Duncan took them in hand before leading Courtney to an isolated booth, hand hovering by her lower back despite having a glass in hand.

Courtney slid into the booth carefully, trying to keep her skirt from rising up too much. She smoothed down her skirt, crossing her ankles, before settling into a perfectly straight posture, the typical Courtney business stance. The brunette relaxed slightly in relief when Duncan slid into the seat across from her and not beside her like she was expecting.

Duncan easily, and too smoothly for comfort, let Courtney's glass glide across the table and settle directly in front of her. She took the glass in hand, carefully bringing the glass up to her lips. She tried to ignore Duncan's eyes staring unwavering at her, even as he too drank. Instead, she focused on the quietness the bar had been smothered in once Duncan had entered and confronted Chuck. It was like everyone was nosey to see what the short-fused man would do next, like they were trying to strain their ears to hear their conversation. Maybe they all knew Duncan was someone in the city to fear. No one so openly confronted people in this city, especially someone they did not know. For Duncan to do so without so much as a wavering in confidence said a lot about who he was. His confidence meant he would win and anyone who wanted to test that would be nothing but sorry.

"Do you ever just relax?" Duncan questioned suddenly as she snapped her attention back to him.

"What are you talking about?" Courtney snapped, resisting the urge to squirm in her seat as he continued to stare at her like he knew everything about her. He probably does by this point, she reminded herself. He was the big, bad, scary leader of the Killer Bass. If he wanted information he would get it, and it seemed like Duncan was interested enough in her to get information.

"You're all stiff. You're sitting in a bar with a gang leader and you're sitting like you're in some kind of business meeting," Duncan explained as he settled back casually to improve his point. Courtney glanced around, making sure no one heard his very loud mention of being a gang leader. "And you're acting all paranoid. Relax Princess, no one's listening, and if they were, they'd be taken care of."

"You bring me no comfort," Courtney mumbled into her drink with a heavy sigh. The last thing she needed was for someone to hear that she was associating, mostly against her will, with a criminal. Not only would her reputation be ruined, something very important to Courtney, but she would be an accessory! She did not want to be arrested ever, but she most definitely did not want to go to prison because of Duncan. "And for your information, I do relax. It's just hard to do when I'm sitting at the same table as a criminal. Plus, I value good posture." Duncan smiled behind his glass, nodding silently in agreement. God, did she want to punch him in the face. His stupid, smug, "I-know-everything-I'm-the-big-bad-wolf" face.

Their table fell into a silence as the bar seemed to slowly resume its usual quiet clatter. Courtney trailed her finger around the rim of her glass, quietly thinking about where her life was going if she kept attracting the attention of the Delinquent. Her life was going down the gutter, that was for certain. I should've just left him to die in that damn alley, she thought bitterly to herself. She glared over at him angrily, but his focus was somewhere else.

He was surveying the bar, watching as a pack of men walked in. They all were built muscle upon muscle and were probably more steroid than men. They looked like the ones to cause trouble for the hell of it. She could practically hear them bragging like they were in some gang, like they were something to be feared. Duncan probably shot guys like them for fun. Courtney felt the stench of cigarette smoke hit her even from as far away as they were. She turned away from the smell and watched Duncan once again.

His gaze followed the men as they bombarded the bar with yelling and cheers. His grip on his glass tightened and Courtney was certain he was capable of shattering the glass in his grasp. He was on edge, his gaze jumping around like he was on the lookout for something.

"Duncan?" she questioned quietly, her hand reaching out to brush against his. All of a sudden, he was back, smiling at her like he had never looked away. He took her hand gentle in his and Courtney all of a sudden got déjà vu of being in high school on her first date. A time of passing glances filled with nervous energy and of fingers barely brushing against each other. A part of her felt like pulling her hand away, like she had to escape his criminal touch. Another part of her relished in the softness of his touch, of hands so strong and rough being so soft against her skin. She relished in the softness of his face as he looked at her, like he had looked at her thousands of times before. "You went kind of on edge there."

"Sorry," he said softly, running his thumb along her knuckles, "Guys like that," he gestured with his head to the bar to point out the men who were now chugging down pint glasses of beer before slamming them down on the bar top, "They're nothing but trouble. Especially for girls—sorry, women—like you."

"So, it's me that you're concerned about," Courtney questioned with a tease. Duncan caught the look and gave a good-hearted eye roll. Duncan wasn't on edge because he was concerned about himself. Duncan knew, or at least was confident enough to pretend, that he could take down anyone in the bar. However, he was concerned more with Courtney and if anyone would mess with her.

"I can't have anything happening to you. Who else would find me bleeding out in an alley and bandage me up?" Duncan questioned jokingly. Behind the joke was a quiet feeling of worry.

Courtney nodded quietly, her hand still grasped in his. A part of her itched to tell him that she could take care of herself, that she had survived plenty of years without anyone's help. However, her usual defense was caught in her throat as Duncan turned her hand and ran his fingers along her palm. There was something so human about seeing him in this light. He wasn't the Delinquent, he wasn't the criminal mastermind running the Killer Bass. At that moment, he was just a man sitting quietly in a bar without a woman he had met and, sadly for Courtney, had their lives intertwined. He was just an average man concerned about the safety of a woman.

Duncan wasn't being a pain in the ass, at least not yet. He wasn't pushing her buttons or making her question her morals, at least not intentional. Maybe she was being a bit too standoffish with him. Maybe he just wanted a second of pretending he was a normal civilian who wasn't on a time limit, who wouldn't one day be taken out.

"What are you even doing here?" Courtney asked quietly, drink in hand. Just treat him like one of your friends. Pretend he's just a guy you met and you're having a simple conversation, Courtney advised herself.

"Defending you apparently," he answered with a smug grin, like he was proud of himself for saving her, like she'd never live it down.

"That wasn't my fault," Courtney growled out, narrowing her eyes at him.

"I know, you can't help how beautiful you are, but that skirt you're wearing isn't helping your case. Those damn legs of yours just go on for miles." Courtney's eyes narrowed threateningly as she snatched her hand away from him. The only shock he allowed himself to show was a slow blink as he watched her.

"Why do you have to be so damn difficult? I'm trying to give you a chance here, and you feel the need to push my buttons," Courtney snapped at him as he laughed lightly.

"You make it too easy, Princess. Your buttons are like those big red buttons you see in cartoons that are labeled don't touch. It's impossible not to press them," Duncan breathed out in a strained chuckle.

"Children have more self-control than you," Courtney deadpanned as Duncan shrugged half-heartedly. Duncan watched her glare at him from across the table, her glass clutched tightly in one hand even as she crossed her arms moodily. So, the princess has the same kind of short temper as me, Duncan thought to himself a thrill moving through him. She was just so easy to piss off.

"Relax, Princess. I'm not stalking you. I was in the area getting some business squared away and I just decided to stop by a bar," Duncan explained coolly.

"And it just so happened to be the bar I was in?" Courtney questioned with a raised brow, testing to see if he was lying about stalking her.

"Fate just wants us together," he said smoothly as Courtney rolled her eyes. As stupid as it sounded, Courtney was beginning to wonder if the universe was making some kind of cruel joke on her, like Duncan was her karma for some horrible wrongdoing.

"What kind of business would you be doing in an area like this?" Courtney questioned, getting as far away from the topic of her Duncan-karma as possible. The Boathouse might have been a relatively safe bar, but the city was still the city, and the neighborhoods surrounding The Boathouse were not the kindest around. These were one of the sketchier places in the city, and Courtney could only imagine the kind of business Duncan could be getting himself into around these parts.

"You don't want to know," Duncan dismissed as Courtney's mind hyper sped into the millions of possible scenarios. Her heartbeat quickened in her chest. Maybe he was in the area to canvas a business he was going to rob. Maybe he was in the area because he was finishing off a person who had betrayed him. "Hey, drama princess?" Courtney jumped slightly at his voice, turning her attention to him once again where he was staring at her with a raised brow. Her thoughts must have been written on her face as Duncan rolled his eyes. "I was meeting with some businessmen about the Bass running drugs for them. It's the standard stuff, nothing too crazy."

"Nothing too crazy," Courtney mocked quietly with an eye roll. Only to Duncan, top dog in the gang world, would think running drugs for people was "nothing too crazy". Duncan glared at her before reaching out and taking her glass from her.

"I'm taking you home," Duncan told her sternly.

"I'm not drunk," Courtney snapped at him in irritation, glancing around the bar when she realized how loud she was talking.

"I know you're not drunk, Princess, but you're starting to seem like you're enjoying spending time with me—"

"In your dreams," Courtney growled out as Duncan smirked.

"And what wonderful dreams those are, but your enjoyment is starting to freak me out. So, let's get you home."

"I am perfectly capable of walking myself home," Courtney snapped at him when he got up from the booth and extended a hand to help her up, "I can take care of myself just fine."

"I know," he said gently, and Courtney actually believed he was being sincere. She didn't hear any mockery in his words, no sarcastic bite. "Let me walk you home anyway."

Courtney eyed Duncan's extended hand for a second too long before letting out a sigh. To hell with it. If he wanted to walk her home so damn bad then let him. Besides, though Courtney would never admit it, mostly due to her pride, she would feel a lot safer if Duncan was walking her home through the mean streets of the city.

She took his hand and he hoisted her up with only the smallest of smiles etched onto his face. Duncan led her out the door and was presently surprised when he released her hand once outside.

"Come on, Princess, let's get a move on. We don't have all day here."

* * *

"And welcome home," Duncan announced as they reached the front of her apartment building. Duncan had spent a better part of the walk to her apartment acting like some cheesy tour guide. Despite the fact that a lot of the "attractions" he had pointed out were places he had been in a shootout with the cops or had robbed, it was actually kind of sweet. Duncan might have been a scary story told to the people of the city, a big bad wolf to fear and avoid, but underneath that legend he was soft, and he was an absolute dork.

"Thanks for walking me home," Courtney spoke softly as she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, "And thanks for the exclusive Killer Bass tour."

"I gotta brag to someone other than my crew," Duncan chuckled out before taking a step forward, closer to her, "Any chance I can get an invite back into your apartment?" He grabbed her hand softly in his and Courtney felt a smirk working its way onto her face.

"Not unless you're bleeding to death again."

"So, you would save me?" Duncan questioned cockily as Courtney rolled her eyes and moved to head into her building. "Wait, wait, Princess." He stopped her easily, mostly due to the fact that he was still holding her hand. His gaze fell to their interlocked hands where Duncan had moved to grasp her one small hand in both of his. "That pin I gave you, that offer to join the Bass, that was real. It was a genuine offer."

Courtney blinked at him, watching as he trailed his fingers on the back of her hand, distracting her easily.

"Duncan, I—"

"I know you're not ready for it yet," Duncan interrupted her, "I just want you to know it was real." Duncan leaned forward and presses a brief, gentle kiss to her cheek. "Goodnight, Courtney."

And he was gone before she could say any more. Courtney let out a sigh before turning to head into her building, fingers brushing lightly against her cheek.

* * *

Do you guys get it? The Boathouse. Because like you know, Duncney, the fish cabin. I'm clever. By the way, I have a total drama sideblog on tumblr! So it's all tdi related. courtofswans

thanks for reading 3 i hope you enjoyed

comments make me a happy writer :)


	3. i see you in everything i do

an update from me? no, that's impossible.  
hi, i am alive. sorry i haven't updated in so long. i would blame it on being busy with college, but honestly i just did not feel like writing. it felt very much like a chore. also college has melted my brain. i said 26 + 26 equaled like 162 or some shit, like my brain has been mush.  
anyways, i'm on summer break now, so i thought why not update! especially since my birthday is this week (may 27). this is my birthday present to myself and you guys! so here it is, chapter 3! (also please excuse any errors, editing was exhausting)

* * *

There she was standing in the middle of the room, looking as gorgeous as ever. She was wearing a flowing white, long sleeved blouse, tucked neatly into her jeans. She looked like a modern-day princess. She was the most beautiful thing Duncan had ever seen, but what was she doing here? She shouldn't have been there. Courtney should not have been anywhere near him right now. She should've been far away tucked safely in her apartment or at work where she could safely pace the halls. She shouldn't have been there.

Courtney glanced up meeting his gaze for the first time, across the room like a cheesy fairytale. She gave him a small smile, moving to take a step closer to him before stopping in her tracks. A bang that pierced Duncan's heart rang out as he watched Courtney's face twist into pain, her hand moving to clutch her stomach. She shakily moved her hand away from where the pain was radiating only to see her white blouse had red in the middle of it. Even from across the room, Duncan could see the hand she had used to grasp at her stomach was stained with blood. Duncan watched with horror as the small red dot on her blouse grew, painting her shirt in red.

Another bang.

Courtney let out another cry of pain as she grasped at her should. Red began to glide like a river down her sleeve, and when the material could no longer soak up anymore of the blood, it dripped down onto the marble floor, pooling at her feet. Duncan watched the puddle of blood, turn into what felt like an ocean. In his mind, Duncan flashed back to the numerous people he had killed in his line of work, all of them lying at his feet, spilling an ocean of blood into the room.

She moved her gaze to his, her lips moving in the pattern of what Duncan recognized as his name. The panic hit him then. She was going to die. She was going to die right in front of him if he didn't do anything, and it would be entirely his fault. He would have been the one to kill Courtney Veras. He looked down at his hands and saw the blood covering his hands, felt the stickiness of it.

He locked eyes with her once again and the look on her face was one of pure fear. At this point, he couldn't tell if she was afraid of dying or if she was afraid of him of the monster he was and the pain and destruction he always seemed to bring.

Courtney let out a strained cough, like she was struggling to breathe. She coughed once again, and blood dripped from her lips, darker and a heavier consistency. She went to say his name again but was stopped by her eyes rolling back and her falling to the floor before she could get his name out.

Duncan immediately took a step in her direction. He had to save her. He couldn't let her die, he couldn't be the one to kill her.

He made his way to rush to her but was stopped suddenly by the forcefulness of hands pulling him back. Duncan tried to fight against it, but he kept on being pulled back, pulled away from where she laid in a pool of blood, staring blankly at him.

"Duncan! Duncan, what the hell are you doing?" the blonde pulling him back hissed out. She made a wild grasp at him, grabbing at his chin and forcing him to look at her. Duncan blinked at her and allowed the panic to dissipate when he saw that it was Bridgette holding onto him. "What the hell is going on with you?" When Duncan heard that from most people, he expected them to be right up in his face, angry, yelling at him, but that's not at all what Bridgette was. She didn't sound or look angry, just worried and more than a bit confused.

"Yeah man, what were you planning to do? Walk out into the open? You know the plan, you know Harold hasn't disabled the security cameras yet," the man beside Bridgette, who was holding a cowboy hat in his hand spoke up.

Duncan opened his mouth to explain himself, to tell them that they had to go help her, but as Duncan glanced back to where Courtney had previously been laying in a pool of her own blood, she was gone. No sign of her ever being there was present, not even the white marble flooring had evidence of the horrific scene.

"Duncan?" Bridgette questioned gently with concern, regaining her attention. Duncan took in a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding, letting all the panic he had felt flow out of him. He couldn't let his crew know that he was distracted. He needed everyone on their a-game and that included him. His crew would only worry if they knew.

"Relax, Bridge. I'm fine," Duncan assured her as he shrugged his arm out of her still there grasp, "Just was just scouting. I thought I saw a guard we didn't account for walking by." Lying came so easy to Duncan.

"Well, you almost stepped into the line of sight of the cameras," Bridgette pointed out roughly, "That doesn't sound like something you would do. I know you Duncan, you're too meticulous to make such a rookie mistake like that."

"I said I was fine, didn't I?" Duncan snapped out at her, "So, just drop it."

"Dude, you don't have to yell at her, she was just trying to help," the man beside her spoke up to Bridgette's defense.

"Geoff, stand up for your girlfriend on your own time. We have a job to do here," Duncan mumbled as he turned to his back to the two, trying to get the feeling of panic out of him and trying to make his eyes not burn with the image of Courtney dead in a pool of her own blood, "Go over the plan again."

"We've already been over the plan," Geoff whined as Duncan rolled his eyes.

"And I said go over it again. There can't be any slip ups here."

Geoff shared a look with Bridgette, a desperate puppy trying to find out what to do. Bridgette sighed and waved him off, telling him to just humor Duncan and go through the plan once again.

"You, me, and Bridge are the main ground team. We're going to be the ones going into the vault and heading out with the money. We're waiting for Harold to shut down all of the cameras, and hopefully block out any outgoing calls, mostly to the police, but he's still not sure if he can do it," Geoff informed him quietly, glancing around the bank to make sure no one was overhearing him.

"How are we getting into the vault?" Duncan questioned, turning back to face them. He already knew the answer, but he had to make sure everyone else did.

"We're sneaking back there and quietly taking out anyone who runs into us along the way since there will more than likely be guards," Geoff told him.

"And once we get _to_ the vault?"

"Boom," Bridgette answered, the hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.

Bridgette wasn't anything like him, they were complete and total opposites. Bridgette was a gentle soul, it was one of the things Duncan enjoyed about her. She was a genuinely good person and had compassion in amounts Duncan would've never thought possible of people. She did not enjoy hurting people, or animals, but the crew rarely interacted with animals, except for the rare, deadly guard dog. She was civilized, and she was a peacemaker. She did not enjoy violence and she always wanted everyone to be as level minded as possible. Bridgette was one of Duncan's best, one of the few who had been with him since the beginning of the Killer Bass, when it was only him, Geoff, and Bridgette. She was one of the few he let close. She was the person he usually sent to make negotiations. Since the beginning of the Killer Bass, Bridgette had been his sounding board, someone he bounced ideas off of and made sure he was making the best decisions, and more importantly, she had been his conscious. Bridgette was someone who was capable of being so good, someone who could be normal. He would never fully understand why she was with him, in his crew.

She was not one of his crew members who enjoyed shooting at the cops or pointing guns at innocent hostages, she would if Duncan asked, but she never found pleasure in it. She did however enjoy a good explosive, but only if it was against an inanimate object and not a living thing. That look of sheer joy and adrenaline when they were pulling off a heist was something Bridgette wore quite well.

"If by boom you mean a centralized explosive to open the vault then yes," Duncan said with a small smile, "What are we doing about the people that will hear the explosion?"

"We have crew members around. They're going to control the hostage situation and keep an eye out for the police while we're collecting the money. We also have lookouts up on buildings nearby to keep an eye out for the police. They're going to be snipers if they need to," Bridgette spoke up.

"We get the money, give the Bass the cue to get the hell out and back to the safehouse, and DJ is outside in the alley with our getaway car," Geoff said with glee. Duncan rolled his eyes, but he felt the same joy. It was starting to bubble its way into him. He always felt like this before a heist, especially a bank robbery. It was the adrenaline beginning to set in. It was the dangers of what could happen, the joy that will be felt if they pulled it off.

"Do you have the earpieces?" Duncan asked Bridgette as she handed over the comm they used to communicate with the whole crew during a job. Duncan took the piece from her, ignoring her still apprehensive look as he put the piece in his ear and called over to Harold.

"Yes boss?" Harold spoke, obviously startled by the sudden voice in his ear.

"Are you ready to shut down the security feed?" Duncan inquired, counting over everything in his head once again, making sure there were no holes in the plan.

"Ready whenever you are boss," Harold spoke over the comm. It was easy to tell from his voice that he was fully alert and at full attention. Harold, the redheaded dweeb, was a newer hire compared to a lot of the others in the crew, and it showed in the way he was deathly afraid of Duncan. Everyone was afraid, terrified even, of the Delinquent, but his crew knew better than to fear just Duncan, especially when he wasn't angry. They knew that Duncan wasn't some scary, monstrous person outside of the persona and a job. As long as no one pissed him off in the crew's free time, he was good.

Harold had yet to come to this conclusion. He was still terrified of Duncan, and he was always on his toes to make sure he didn't piss him off. This of course was slowly becoming irritating to Duncan. He didn't need his own crew flinching at his every word. Lucky for Harold, he was one of the best hires Duncan had made in quite some time—outside of if he got a certain brunette ADA to join—so he learned to just deal with it and hope that Harold slowly learned to stop fearing him so damn much.

"Everyone knows the plan?" Duncan questioned into the comm, only to hear a series of agreements after, "Okay, from this point on its masks on and codenames only." Duncan glanced up to watch the security cameras power down and he looked back to his companions. "We don't have long before they start to notice, let's get moving."

The three snuck around a corner into a back hall away from prying eyes. Duncan watched as Bridgette slipped on her mask and as Geoff put on his cowboy hat and his mask. Duncan would knew understand why Geoff felt the need to wear both, but to each their own. Duncan pulled out his skull mask, running his thumb along the accent green before slipping it on. The Delinquent was out and ready for a heist.

* * *

"Everybody down!" Geoff shouted, him and Bridgette making their way into the open lobby. Like always, the sound of screaming echoed everywhere and people started running for an escape. "I said get down!" Geoff shot towards the ceiling, letting the echo silence the screaming for the most part. He pointed his gun to the crowd of people who seemed to be frozen in fear. "Get down and play scared hostages and no one will get hurt."

"What's the problem?" Bridgette questioned loudly, "You're in the presence of the best crew in the city. Given that none of you try and play dumbass hero, you'll have a great story to tell everyone. People love stories about surviving the Killer Bass."

Bridgette made her way to stand beside Geoff as the people began lowering to the floor. Bridgette gave Geoff a nod for him to continue on with his part as she raised her gun to the bystanders, all the while remaining alert to any other threats that may come. She pointed her assault rifle wildly at the bystanders, changing her she was pointing at constantly, though unbeknownst to any of them, her gun still had the safety on. When she was in charge of dealing with hostages, she always kept her safety on, never wanting to accidentally shoot anyone. Duncan had tried to convince her multiple times that it was much safer for her to have her gun ready for anything. However, he knew she would never change. Bridgette was a more sensitive soul and didn't want to hurt people unless she had to. He couldn't complain though, because she always had his back and, in an instance, she would shoot anyone if she absolutely had to, to protect her crew.

While Bridgette was watching the hostages, Geoff was moving around the bank, taking out any of the security guards, something he greatly enjoyed doing. It was all part of the plan. Geoff was supposed to secure any security, they did not need anyone outside of the crew to have access to a gun, nor did they want anyone to call in the cops. Bridgette was supposed to deal with the hostages, the readied she looked to shoot someone, the better. Lastly, Duncan was supposed to jump the desk to the back and keep any of the employees from alerting the police.

Duncan was currently readying himself to play his part, waiting for Geoff and Bridgette to get everyone else under control. Geoff knocked the last guard out with the butt of his gun as Duncan took a step towards the desk, but he quickly stopped in his tracks.

There she was once again, mixed in with the other hostages cowering on the floor. Except this time, she wasn't wearing the same blood-stained blouse as before. Instead, she was wearing clothes similar to the last time he saw her. She was wearing a pastel pink button up tucked into a gray pencil skirt. She was on the floor like the rest of them, her hands up to cover her head, the pink heels she was wearing hanging on only by her toes during her rush to the ground. Her hair that had been up in a bun had stray hairs falling loose from it as she dared to look up. Her hands shook as she took in her surroundings, realizing the nightmare she was in. This was probably the worst day most people could imagine, their greatest fear.

Courtney met his gaze from across the room and a pure look of fear crossed her face. Behind Duncan's mask sadness overtook him. More than anything he just wanted to comfort her, tell her she had nothing to fear from him or his crew. He would never hurt her. There was no bad blood amongst the Killer Bass, and Duncan considered her to be a part of his crew, even if she had yet to accept the offer.

He took a step towards her, away from the desk, away from where he was supposed to be. He just wanted her to be safe and be unafraid of him. He just wanted her to get out of there. She wasn't a hostage. She wasn't supposed to be a hostage. She wasn't supposed to be here. Why was she here?

He took another step towards her. Then another. Another. As she watched him get closer, something must have clicked with her. Duncan watched as the fear in Courtney's eyes turned to one of pure terror as she realized that he was heading directly towards her. She fell backwards from where she had been on her knees. She clumsily and pathetically crawled backwards, trying to escape from him. She reached up her arm, trying to shield herself from him. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and Duncan suddenly felt like everything around his paused. Every sound around him fell mute and all he could hear was the ringing in his ears, the sound of his own heartbeat, and the sobs of Courtney's begging pleas to him. He neared her. Closer and closer. She had to stop her slow retreat when her back hit one of the columns. He reached out and grabbed her arm gently.

He had to get her out of here. She couldn't be there. She shouldn't have been there, but how the hell was he going to get her out? He couldn't just take her out. Every witness there would see and the police would have questions, link her to him in some way. More importantly his crew would ask questions. He couldn't take her hostage. Everyone would look for her. She was an ADA for crying out loud. They would ask how she got away from the Killer Bass crew alive when so few others had. Every idea he could think of would only put her in more danger in the long run. She wasn't supposed to be there.

"Delinquent," a shout came right at his ear, bringing everything around him back to his attention, like pressing play on a movie. Bridgette was beside him, grabbing roughly onto his free arm. She wasn't where she was supposed to be. She was supposed to be dealing with the hostages, not following him around like some lost puppy. She knew how to play her part in the crew and he didn't need her acting like some lost newbie. He met her gaze, ready to tell her so, but paused when he saw the concern she was hiding behind her mask.

He quickly glanced behind her where Geoff was in front of the counter, making quick movements back and forth from pointing his gun at the bank tellers and the crowd of bystanders. His eye movements were rapid. From the counter to the crowd to Duncan to the crowd to the counter. Geoff was concerned, Duncan could see it in his body language, in the way he gripped his gun. Duncan had rarely ever seen him so concerned. Only ever when a job went bad or when they were close to being arrested or killed. But this job hadn't gone wrong, at least not yet, and they weren't dead, at least not today.

Geoff was concerned about Duncan and his strange behavior. He had never seen his boss act this way, especially not during a heist. Sure he could get nutty and paranoid when he hadn't slept in a few days, or weeks, but this was new to Geoff. This looked like his boss was completely losing it, and he had never seen so much concern and fear in him before. He couldn't think about it right now. Right now, Geoff had to do everyone's job, all while having an eye Bridgette and Duncan in case they needed help. Geoff wasn't a newbie and he knew what his job was.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" Bridgette questioned lowly so no one else could hear. She didn't need anyone to sense weakness coming from them. No one could think things weren't going as planned. They had to think this was all apart of the plan and they were conspiring for the next phase.

 _I have to tell her,_ Duncan thought panicked to himself. Duncan hadn't yet mention Courtney. He already knew the argument he'd hear. She was a lawyer, a goody two shoes, she would never fit into his world. He knew they wouldn't be _wrong_ , the thoughts had crossed his mind too. Mostly though, he had wanted to protect her. She couldn't just straggle the line and live in her world and his. She had to make the full crossover or she would also be in danger. A constant problem for him to deal with at all angles. Now though, Duncan had to keep her safe and the only way he would be able to do that would be to tell Bridgette.

"She can't be here," Duncan told Bridgette in the same low tone. Under her mask, Bridgette's eyebrows knitted together. She had never heard such panic in Duncan's voice before. The Duncan she knew was always calm and collect, especially during a job.

"What do you mean? Who are you talking about?" Bridgette asked.

"Her," Duncan answered, turning back to Courtney, only it wasn't Courtney. This woman was nothing like Courtney.

Her dark curly hair was falling loose from her bun into an unruly mess, unlike Courtney's pin straight hair that Duncan had yet to see as anything but perfectly done. This woman's skin was much paler than that resulting from Courtney's Latina heritage. This woman's eyes were completely void of the tears he saw streaming down Courtney's cheeks. This woman's eyes were a bright green whereas Courtney's eyes were a dark brown, filled more with fierceness than bright color. This woman was no Courtney.

Fuck, he was the one acting like a newbie.

"Delinquent?" Bridgette questioned, "What's wrong with her?"

 _Nothing is wrong with her, because she's not Courtney_ , Duncan thought as his hand loosened on her wrist, but he still did not fully let go, as if holding on to the fear that it was her. She's not even crying or as scared as Courtney was. This woman was just staring up at him without fear. Maybe that's why he saw Courtney in her. Courtney wasn't afraid of him, and she wouldn't cry in fear from him.

Duncan turned back to Bridgette to try to make up some excuse to her, but he quickly faltered as his brain caught up to him with an important question. Why wasn't this bitch scared and crying?

He looked back at her, taking her in for who she was and not just what she was missing as Courtney. She was wearing a pants suit. Professional, yet flattering on her. Why would someone dress so nicely to a bank? Duncan glanced back to where she had originally been before she had backed up to the column. No purse or briefcase was there, just her phone and a clutch wallet. _She's not a business woman_ , Duncan thought, trying to connect the dots, _What kind of business woman doesn't carry some kind of bag or briefcase?_ Beside her phone was the woman's heel that she lost in her retreat. It was a heel, but barely. What did Bridgette call those kinds of heels? Cat? No, kitten heels. _She was in court_ , Duncan realized. Court outfits were always obvious. No one ever wanted to irritate a judge or give off the wrong impression to a jury.

Duncan turned back to the woman, catching sight of a lump coming from her inner jacket. Duncan tightened his grip on the woman harshly, pulling her up to her feet.

"She's a cop," Duncan told Bridgette as the blonde moved to check the woman for anything. Bridgette pulled a handheld walkie from the woman's jacket, reassuring Duncan that she had no gun on her. "Did you have to make a court appearance today? There's no point carrying your gun when you're off duty and can't bring weapons into a courthouse."

"Did you call anyone?" Bridgette questioned loudly, making the bystanders nearby jump as she pointed her gun at the officer, "Did you report anything going on here?"

"No," the woman hissed out at her.

"I don't believe her," Bridgette said over to Duncan.

"I'll ask our eyes if there's been any call ins or reports," Duncan assured her as he went to step away and comm Harold.

"Boss, nice catch," Bridgette praised him as she resumed her original job of watching the hostages.

 _Right, nice catch,_ Duncan thought to himself with a relieved sigh. He got lucky is what happened. He didn't even see the woman for who she was until Bridgette yelled at him...again. He needed to get his head in the game. A mishap like that could have had the cops there in seconds with cuffs on them. He was lucky his instincts seemed to still work even when his mind was off somewhere else.

"King Dweeb, come in King Dweeb, do you copy?" Duncan said into his comm.

"I don't think I agreed to that codename," Harold replied.

"Well, until you figure out what you are going to be called, that's what we're going with," Duncan told him as Harold let out a sigh, "Police scanner. Have there been any reports or call ins?"

"There was a report about a fire on Fifth, a call about a heart attack in the Lincoln Apartment Complex, there was a very interesting one about a six car pile up on the highway, but it turned out to be just a six car fender bender—"

"Nothing about us?" Duncan interrupted.

"Nope, no one has reported a bank robbery or anything about the Bass crew. Well, at least not yet that is, it probably won't stay like that much longer," Harold told him.

"Keep me up to date." Duncan moved to where Geoff had been positioned. He gave him a nod, cuing him to jump behind the counter. Geoff did so with delight as he began yelling instructions to the employees.

Duncan moved to call in his B-team to take over as the watchers of the lobby while Bridgette, Geoff, and himself went to the vault. He paused briefly, watching the beautiful brunette that was perched on the counter. Courtney blew a kiss at him sarcastically before rolling her eyes and crossing her legs. She examined her nails with disinterest only glancing up at him once to see if he was coming towards her.

 _Now that for sure is in my own head_ , Duncan thought to himself, moving to call in his crew, _I really need to get some sleep_.

* * *

Courtney let out a sigh as she stabbed a pair of chopsticks into the takeout box on her counter. She reached for one of the wine glasses hanging from the rack before giving up and just grabbing a full wine bottle. She tiredly headed into her living room, Chinese food and entire bottle of wine in hand. She sank into her couch, tucking her legs under her as she put her attention to the TV that was already turned on.

"Previously on The Realest of Love in a Reality Show Setting," the television proclaimed as she expertly used her chopsticks, "James kissed Sara in front of Jamie, his ex-girlfriend, who proclaimed she is still in love with him even though she's currently dating Isaac."

"Nope," Courtney declared out loud, reaching for her remote as soon as she heard that entire run-on sentence of drama. She didn't like reality television on her good days, but she most definitely was too tired to try to even attempt to understand the drama that was unfolding on her tv screen. She changed the channel, sighing when it was not an improvement from The Realest of Love in a Reality Show Setting. "Whatever," she mumbled to herself before leaning over her couch to grab a file from her leather tote bag that acted as a purse and a briefcase. She nearly flipped over the armrest of her couch in her stretch for her bag, but she was eventually able to settle and relax back into her couch.

Courtney placed the file in her lap before glancing back at someone obstacle course show she had turned into the middle of. She expertly balanced the white, logoless takeout box on her thigh as she ate.

"Dumbass," she said as someone on the television face planted. Courtney set her takeout aside and focused her attention on the file in her lap. It was the murder case she had been given, or as it was better known to Courtney, the case that was going to make or break her career.

It was a simple murder case, which wasn't too hard to come by in the city, but what was untypical about the case was that no one believed there would be a guilty verdict. She had read many cases in her lifetime and met many lawyers and there was few cases that lawyers avoided like the plague. Yet there she was with the plague to the justice system, every lawyer's worst nightmare, right in her lap.

The case wasn't bad per say. When Courtney had been given the case, after hearing how awful the case would be from all the rumors and lore that the office had been milling around, she was expecting a nightmare, a stain to her entire career, and a case that would lead nowhere close to justice.

The case didn't lack evidence, it simply lacked the easy evidence most prosecutors want. There was no DNA left at the crime scene, no fingerprints. There was no smoking gun, no big neon sign saying who committed the murder. All the evidence Courtney had to work with was circumstantial. They knew how the victim was murdered, and they had been painted a fairly vivid picture of how the victim more than likely spent her last few moments, and law enforcement was sure they had gotten the guy who did it, but there was still no direct proof, no easy answer.

In the modern day of technology, most prosecutors wanted DNA evidence, clear cut proof of who was at the scene to commit the crime. Courtney had always been the opposite. Circumstantial evidence cases had always been her favorite and what she believed to be one of the truest forms of justice. Circumstantial evidence was what the courts were built out of before the luxury of forensics. All she had to do was connect the dots, make the puzzle whole, the only difference is she has to go find the pieces instead of having them laid out in front of her. Courtney knew she would just have to convince the jury that circumstantial evidence was just as convincing as forensics and direct evidence.

Courtney just needed to come up with a game plan, something she had been greatly struggling with. The reality television also wasn't helping. Courtney reached to grab for her remote as the television started saying, "Last time on Total Drama—"

"Let's switch to the good old news." Courtney mumbled eating some of her food as she changed the channel. A cheerful image of puppies being adopted filled the screen as the news anchor explained the many happy adoptions that had taken place recently.

"Focus on the happy puppies in the big bad city," Courtney said to herself as she grabbed the bottle of wine from her coffee table. She took a long drawn out drink from the bottle before setting it back down and grabbing her pen and legal pad. She began reading over the file for the millionth time, making notes as the news mumbled in the background about happy puppies. Courtney was willing to bet her career this guy had some professional level teaching. There was no way some idiot who decided to kill his ex-girlfriend would be able to do so without leaving any forensics.

"Breaking news!" the TV shouted, making Courtney jump and breaking her out of her focus. The brunette glanced up at the tv, watching as the screen flashed with a brightly colored graphic. "We have just gotten reports that there is a hostage situation going on at the First Union Bank. The police have put out a statement saying that they believe it is a bank robbery that has caused the situation."

"New day, same story," Courtney told the TV, tracing over the letters in her notes a second time.

"Police have surrounded the bank and are looking to begin negotiations. Wait a second...we are getting confirmation that this is a Killer Bass robbery."

Courtney glanced up to the screen to see police pushing back the barricade line even further. They always had to be more careful when it came to the Bass. The cameraman who was recording the scene struggled to get a shot around all of the officers, many of which had their guns drawled. However much chaos and disorder was in the way, she saw him. There he was peering out the window, out of the line of being shot, trying to plan his escape. Beside him, through the window, Courtney could see another figure waving a gun around, moving the hostages from the front lobby.

"What's your plan this time?" Courtney questioned him through the TV, despite knowing she was talking to herself.

Her question was soon answered as Duncan—no—the Delinquent kicked open the front door and let a wave of bullet fly towards the police. Soon two others in masks were beside him, shooting as well. They hide behind street cars as the police began to shoot back at them.

"That damn idiot," Courtney whispered, turning back to her file and ignoring the gunfight on her TV.

* * *

"Where the hell is our high ground support?" Duncan yelled into his comm as he crouched behind a car, gun in hand. Bullets tore up the car he was hiding behind, and Duncan just hoped that no stray bullet would somehow find its way into him.

He wasn't sure how the hell they had gotten into this mess. No, he knew exactly how, he just hadn't planned for it. The first bump in the road was the police coming up to DJ in the getaway car. Apparently, he was blocking the flow of traffic in the alley, not that an alley really had traffic. Therefore, he was forced to move the getaway car further away from the bank as to avoid tipping off the police to what was really going on. The second bump in the road came from his team not watching the hostages close enough. They were all over intimidating the bank tellers and employees, rubbing in the security guards faces that they were being robbed by the best in the city, but they weren't watching the civilians as closely as they should've been. One of the hostages had taken his team's distraction as a fleeting moment to call the authorities. Duncan would bet money it was that damn off duty police officer. Man, was Duncan going to tear them a new one when he was done getting shot at. Of course, with that one call, the entirety of the city's police force was outside of the bank waiting to take them down.

They would have to cross the onslaught of bullets being shot at them before having even a chance of getting to where DJ was with the getaway car.

"What's the plan, boss?" Bridgette questioned from the nearby car she was hiding behind. Beside her, Geoff was shooting away at the cops, easily taking one at a time down. However, even that was not enough to give them a break in the bullets to get to the getaway car. It was like a game of whack-a-mole. As soon as one was shot down another one just popped right up. In the back of his mind, Duncan made a note to change up their heist strategies. They must have become too predictable if the police were so prepared for their attacks.

"We got a man down," Eva screamed into the comm. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bridgette flinch at the sudden screaming in her ear and Geoff's aim shook in surprise just enough to misfire into a police car's tire instead of the officer he was aiming at. Of course, if you ever asked him, the cowboy hat wearing criminal would say he was aiming for the tire all along.

Eva had been around the block a few times. She did her own crimes and was involved in a few gangs over the years, but overall, she was loyal to herself and her job. She was stoic and intimidating, and incredibly strong. She was often aggressive and was one of the best people to send out to fight the town. Whether people loved her or hated her, they all agreed on one thing: she was damn good at what she did. Which was the very reason Duncan had decided to seek out in hiring her.

Geoff and Bridgette had been apprehensive at first. Geoff because he was fearful of the tales he heard about Eva, and Bridgette because she was weary of people who were only loyal to themselves. Bridgette had tried to reason with him, arguing that they needed loyalty more than any other quality. Duncan had argued right back with her. At the time, it was only the three of them, and they had only gotten one additional hire, and that was DJ. They were a small group and there needed to be more of them if they were going to become as legendary as Duncan was planning. They had pulled off a few successful jobs, but all of them were small. The media around the city were starting to murmur about who Duncan and his group could be, but it wasn't headline worthy talk. Duncan wanted the Killer Bass to be known by the entire city, and he knew he needed Eva to do it.

Bridgette had finally caved with heavy sighs and even heavier regrets. It took weeks of calls and back alley information to find a way to meet with Eva, but he did it. Duncan had found Eva, back then only known to him by her codename, and he had negotiated with her on what it would take to get her to join his group.

Ah screw it, there's no point in lying. He had begged.

After her swift denial of his request, he had resorted to begged her to join, abandoning all pride and appealing to her ego. She had raised an interested brow at his begging, but she remained determined not to join his crew.

"Look," she had eventually sighed out, "I get twenty offers a week from people wanting me to join their crew, and more than half of them are up and comings who think they're going to take the crime world by storm. You know what happens to them? They're crushed in weeks, if even that long. What makes this Killer Bass crew that no one has heard of any different?"

Duncan had leaned across the table, close enough to feel the intimidation that came off Eva in waves. "The difference is me," he had spoken out quietly but with a confidence that had Eva raising her brow. Duncan stood from the table and shrugged on the jacket that he had draped over his chair. "Look, I can't make you join the Bass, even though I think you'll do well with it. I can promise you this though, this city is going to know the Killer Bass. We are going to be the legends of this concrete jungle, and you're going to look back and regret not joining, because you could have been a part of something legendary, and we would get there a lot quicker with you on our side."

Duncan turned to exit the building, head held up high as he aimed to walk out on the upper hand.

"Duncan," Eva had called out to him gruffly, the very thing that would change the Killer Bass history, "I don't do club handshakes and sitting behind a desk in some far-off location."

"Neither do I."

"You want me to join, I will, but the minute, the very second, your gang starts going downhill, it's every man for himself," Eva told him sternly as Duncan turned fully back around and reached out for her hand.

"Have a little faith."

Eva took his hand and shook it violently. Duncan had tried to keep from wincing, thinking it could very well be a test from Eva to see if he was strong enough.

"If you're going to be the leader of a notorious gang, you're going to need a code name to go by, and I refuse to call you Boss."

Duncan chanced a glance up at the roof where he knew Eva was supposed to be posted as a sniper. If someone was shot, it could tear their entire operation up. Well, more than it already was. Having a man down was a burden when it came to getting everyone else out.

"Who's hit?" Duncan growled into his comm, glaring at Geoff to resume his shooting.

"New dude," Eva growled back as Duncan rolled his eyes. Why did he always feel the need to add new people? Duncan peered over his hiding spot, gun ready to shoot. Down the road, just a bit away from the bank was a car untouched by the damage of the firefight.

"Malibu, give me the bag of money," Duncan called out to Bridgette as she gave him a confused look but obliged. She took the duffel from around her body and tossed it over to him. Duncan quickly worked to switch the money they had stolen into the larger duffel bag that had originally held their guns.

"What's the plan, D?" Geoff questioned.

"I'm going to take this duffel, that they think is filled with the money, book it to that car, and then you guys are going to take the actual money and escape in the getaway car," Duncan explained.

"Are you insane?" Bridgette hissed out at him. Even behind her mask, Duncan knew that Bridgette was glaring at him. For someone so small and civil, she really could be intimidating when she wanted to be.

"We don't have any other choice," Duncan insisted, "If we're going to get everyone in our crew and the money out of here, then I need to separate and lead them off your guys' trail."

"What makes you think they'll follow you and not us?" Bridgette questioned in a tone that would make anyone other than Duncan think they were being stupid.

"Cut the head off a serpent and the serpent dies," Duncan explained breezily.

"They want to get rid of the Bass more than they want to arrest all of us," Bridgette mumbled in understanding.

"I'm _going_ to that car. You guys are going to draw their fire, so I don't get shot dead, and then once I get away and they start following me, you're going to fall back and get in the getaway car with everyone else," Duncan explained to her sternly, leaving no room for protest, "And that's an order."

* * *

wow, a chapter where courtney and duncan aren't together, well kind of.  
side note, does anyone know how to write a gang war? no? yeah, i figured. also if you have any codename ideas for literally anyone (other than duncan and bridgette) then feel free to comment and share. because everything i can think of is too cliched. also, only cast from TDI, TDA, and TDWT. thanks!  
also, i love reading your comments and theories and everything, so never hesitate!  
thanks for reading 3 i hope you enjoyed  
comments make me a happy writer :)


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